AWOL
by LaylaPendragon
Summary: Some things happen instantaneously. Others take time. Spoilers for CA:TWS. Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes POV, an exploration of triggers good and bad and the road to identity. Rated M for adult language and content. Barnes, Romanoff, Rogers; Barton, T. Stark, Banner and Hill all make appearances.
1. 1

**A/N: Chapter 1/24; Starts in the final scenes of CA:TWS, something about the character arcs spoke to me on a spiritual level and I had to explore that. For those of you who have read my _Inside Out_, I know some of the motifs may at first seem redundant but I assure you the story is thematically unique.**

* * *

_Status: Target terminated, Mission complete, Operative wounded; Unit in need of repair, multiple flesh wounds._

_Report to base? … … …_

He shook his head. Running protocol was ineffective. There was an error.

_Report to base? No. Base has been infiltrated. Base is HYDRA._

_Infiltrated… no. Base had operated as usual. Orders were delivered, target was later deemed non-hostile, orders were then countermanded by operative. Objective in question. HYDRA in question._

_Base compromised._

_Mission aborted._

_Target abandoned._

_Operative AWOL. … … …_

His mission floated, unconscious but alive, several meters below him. That man. The one who had saved him.

_Who the hell is Bucky? Bucky?_

He shook his head again and stared back down at the charred stars and stripes below. His mission, his savior, his… no. The man he owed. Eye for an eye. Life for a life. For now.

He leapt into the water and retrieved the enemy agent-the other agent.

_Rogers?_

_No. The other agent. Who is Bucky?_

He dropped the man on the shore, vital signs noticeable, and walked away.

_Am I?_

He had many monikers, code names. Operative 1. The Asset. The Winter Soldier. But those were titles, not him.

_'The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shippin' out for England first thing tomorrow.'_

He stumbled along the shore. That was his voice, he remembered saying that. And yet, it sounded alien. Even more startling, the memory was more than his voice. He saw that face, the face he had just pummeled black and blue, the face he had left vacant on the shore. Captain America, but not. Smaller, thinner, frailer, weaker. Hurt. He would have easily killed him.

_''Cause I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.'_

He fell this time. Landing on one knee. His mission had said that, had frozen the unit-no, _he_ had stopped the unit because his mission had said that. This Captain had said that, instead of fighting back, instead of defending himself, he'd shown something incomprehensible, far-off and unsaid, and then submitted. He'd said that like it meant a thousand things at once and, because of that, there was no longer any fight left in him. But he hadn't said that first. The Captain hadn't said that first. He had. James Barnes had.

_James_ Buchanan _Barnes._

_'Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.'_

The memories fit together across stretches of blood and ice. They triggered something deeper.

"Bucky," he muttered as he looked at the dirt, the blood, and mud on his hand, then on the unit.

_'You've known me your whole life.'_

"Not anymore."

He clenched shut the unit's digits and stood again. He might have been this 'Bucky' once, but he clearly wasn't now. This thing he was now was anything but the man, the friend who had said those things, felt those things as he'd looked at that tiny, helpless kid in a back alley. A kid like that, he would feel nothing for, no remorse. The man he had faced, bigger, better, stronger, he'd nearly killed, would have if it weren't for that inexplicable expression of surrender.

_Why didn't he fight back? Why didn't he kill me when he had the chance?_

_'I'm not going to fight you. You're my friend.'_

_Why didn't I?_

He paused and let his head fall into the unit's palm, hoping that the flood of memories would trickle out, or somehow organize into a life. No such luck. All he had was confusion, a hollow sense of guilt, and his rage. He fought the urge to scream and trudged on, ignoring the fourth thing, the feeling he couldn't identify. Something close to curiosity which he couldn't remember feeling and therefore shouldn't be able to compare this to. More holes and déjà vu all pointing back to missing time.

He was broken, ruined. That he could feel in the creak of the unit and the ache of his flesh. The emotions.

_Status: inoperative._

He would normally return to base, endure the repairs, be erased. That felt the worst, the purging. He never remembered what they took, only the feeling of it being ripped from him. That would never happen again. He was AWOL, he'd never not completed a mission. Except with this man, and now he had a feeling that even that wasn't a first. Had he spared him before?

He heard Rogers gasp behind him and picked up the pace.

_Steve. His name is Steve. He had him on the ropes._

He swallowed and hardened his face. This wasn't the time to have a cognitive break. He had to figure out what was going on, who he was and why he'd aborted the mission. He had to figure out where these flashes were coming from, whose voice that was. If he was this James Barnes. He had to find the missing parts again.

_Status: Mission in progress. Gather intel on James Barnes._

He stopped at the tree line again and looked back. Rogers was sitting upright now, hand on his abdomen, but operational.

_'What happened to you?'_

_'I joined the army.'_

He felt like he'd been kneed in the chest. His wind was gone and his head was swimming. What was that? Grief? Anger? It was a flood of emotions long-since erased. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and he fought to breathe steadily. Thoughts flew through his mind like echoes, sounding like him but severed from their source, the emotion behind them.

_Why? What have they done to you? Can you go back to the way you were before? What about Steve, my Steve? Not a weapon. A good kid from Brooklyn. My best friend._

Without warning, his stomach rejected its contents and he found himself heaving in the grass. Head pounding and suddenly very empty, he found his feet again and shakily made his way up the hill, stopping several times to retch futilely. His processed, bio-engineered meal was long gone. At this point he was just emptying his resolution.

_Did I just attempt to eliminate James'-my best friend?_

He looked at his hands again. Those hands were stained with dozens of missions, liters of blood that would never wash away. Innocent? Guilty? Deserving? He had no idea. He never asked, never thought. He just killed, ruthlessly and efficiently. Many more, those not his mission, he'd wantonly caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage.

So much blood on his hands, now that of a man who had once-possibly-been a friend. _My best friend._ He wiped the unit on his pant leg, trying to smear off the good kid from Brooklyn's blood, but there was just so much of it. Everywhere.

He was bleeding. Much of it was his own blood.

_You deserve it_, something muttered deep inside of him. He coughed up another retch of HYDRA steeling, leaving him weak and vulnerable. Was this James Barnes? The scared man, abandoned in a factory to mutter uselessly in the dark?

He blinked furiously until it was greenery, not iron panels, before his eyes. He was hallucinating from the blood loss.

He needed to bind the flesh wounds, set his broken arm. He also needed to hide the unit before the public caught sight of him. Dizzy and disoriented he stumbled through the woods, then down a steel catwalk, fire and smoke choking him, then again, in the woods. He leaned against a tree trunk and gagged again, but finally he was empty.

_'Who was that man on the bridge? I knew him… I knew him…'_

This wasn't the first time. He'd failed to eliminate this man before. On that bridge. HYDRA had taken that from him for some reason, taken so much.

HYDRA had made him empty and then filled him with gore. That much was certain. The man on the bridge, he had known him. Several bridges, several lives. He'd known him, he'd saved him, all until he'd tried to kill him.

_Because I tried to kill him first._

He twitched involuntarily, shivering from a ghost shock. He remembered this tactic, there was a scientist… with dogs? No, that had been rewards. What he'd faced, that was HYDRA, that was torture. And not for the first time. Needles and serums and scalpels.

He lurched forward out of the lab and into a pine tree. He still needed a cover and bandaging and he needed them fast. An empty camp-site provided him with an opportunity for both.

There was a clearing ahead, tent pitched and fire still smoldering, but abandoned. A radio chattered nearby, the tone of urgency drawing his attention. Kneeling under cover, he listened to the news report frantically being relayed.

"…confirmed an internal agency attack by a division known as SHIELD. Reports say that the operation was compromised by yet another secret agency operating inside of SHIELD known as HYDRA, and yes, those of you old enough to remember, that is the same HYDRA as first found their fall at the hands of Captain Rogers. Further intelligence has been released revealing that Secretary Alexander Pierce, killed today, was not a victim of this cell but it's ringleader."

Pierce. He knew Pierce. He had been his primary handler.

"…responsible for over two hundred deaths in his time in office, Pierce can be blamed also for the attacks on the capital this week via the assassin code-named Winter Soldier. Regarding this suspect, authorities have little to report, as his whereabouts are unknown. Last seen at the crafts' docking area, he is considered at large. We've been instructed to warn the public that he is armed and dangerous, do not approach. Description as follows: six foot, two hundred twenty pounds, shoulder length brown hair and blue eyes with a metal arm. I repeat a metal arm. Please call the police with any sightings of this man. In further news, Captain Steve Rogers has been reported alive…"

He was a criminal. He'd known he was a killer but hearing that his killings labelled him as a criminal from a news source was jarring. He was a wanted fugitive and his handler was dead, his whole world tossed in the air, the pieces left where they'd fallen. HYDRA sounded like it was a terrorist organization. What did that make him? Was he a bad guy?

Pierce had assured him many times he was helping to save the world. No. Not those words. He was shaping the century. Into what? Something better. According to whom? What was better? Dozens, maybe more people dead. Leaving what?

_'If I don't do this a lot of people are gonna die.'_ He'd said that, Captain America, Steve Rogers.

If Rogers had been stopping the death, that meant he'd been ensuring it. The news reporter had called him an assassin. Was death the only thing he brought? Had his 'good works' been shaping the world by killing people who were dangerous or just in the way? Progress had been HYDRA's goal, but progress towards what? He didn't know. Never asked. Progress didn't require people getting out of its way. It required help and cooperation, not elimination of dissenters. That wasn't freedom.

_Sounds like Hitler to me. Fascists lead with control and death. Bullies._ There was that voice again. On its heels came another flash.

_'I don't like bullies, Buck. I just can't back down from someone like that. It's not right. Beatin' down people who are different, who don't agree. That's not what we're about.'_

He was in the chair, handler looking down at him. He felt conflicted, deeply torn through and through. _'I knew him. I knew him.'_

_'Wipe 'em.'_ Pierce was familiar with that command. He'd said it many, many times. With dark hair and moustache, less wrinkles. Bruised and bleeding. In a suit and tie and a big grin. Many, many times.

He hadn't agreed, and what had Pierce done? Gotten him out of the way by taking away his mind.

_Just another bully._

Something crackled to his right. His earpiece was picking up something. A tinny voice reported Pierce was dead, ordered him to return and be debriefed. He took it out and smashed it in his palm. Something told him it was high-time he stopped being told what to do, what to think. He needed to finds some things out for himself.

A cry went up behind him. He whipped around to eliminate it. Just a bird. He stumbled to his knees. He felt light-headed again. The camp site was starting to seem too exposed. He needed to move on. One shredded shirt, a stolen change of clothing and hat later, he was marching a little more steadily towards the city. Something in him-James-remembered that people who wanted to find things out went to libraries and museums.

This city just happened to host many of both.


	2. 2

He soon found that he was missing more than his past. He had no practical knowledge of existence. He could fight and kill, fly jets and stalk a target from several miles away, but he couldn't gauge his own physical needs. Without base regulating his sustenance intake and his periods of sleep, he had no way to determine when either was required. He'd been robbed of that.

He became determined to retrieve that, or else flounder in this world.

Practically, his available skills were of use in this endeavor. He followed, for the entire next day, a man of comparable height and weight as his own and did precisely what he did. Ate when and what he ate, slept when he slept. The food was at first a problem, but he found that civilians were generally very careless and the places from which this man gained his food were easy to steal from. He slept under cover, usually in bushes. With the coat he had stolen he was fine. He hardly felt the elements anymore anyway.

But he once had.

He woke up the next morning mid-scream. There was a woman several yards to his left running, presumably initially for exercise, now faster for survival. Otherwise he was alone. He found himself jumping between that wooded area and a beach of snow. He was very cold. Shivering, shaking and numb to everything but the pain in his left arm. No, the unit. No. His left arm, it was severed, bleeding.

He looked back and found the unit. He was in a park. It was warm enough. There was no snow, no shrieking wind. Nonetheless, that memory, he'd recovered it. It was with him, permanently, and part of him wanted to lose it. The pain, the utter, mind-shattering pain. Then the whistling. Suddenly he was mid-air. He wasn't in pain. He was just very, very afraid. He was petrified. His legs dangled below him and his right arm reached out. Out, out, out in front of him towards the other hand, Steve's hand. Steve whose eyes bore into him with terror and pain.

He was on a train, on a cliff, in a blizzard. He was about to fall to his death. Bucky Barnes did not survive that fall. Zola, the man whose train had been the vehicle of his destruction, whose soldier had killed him, had made sure of that, had salvaged his body but disposed of his soul.

Zola. Was he dead? If he wasn't he would kill him. NO. The Asset will not harm any member of HYDRA. HYDRA is the Asset's commanding unit. Hail HYDRA-

_NO._

He bolted upright. Somehow, he'd drifted off again, either into sleep or his memory. He couldn't tell what was his and what was theirs. Had he really fallen off that train? Or, was that something HYDRA had created? Why would it do that?

He growled and clasped his head in his hands, realizing only afterwards that his right arm was functioning again.

It was infuriating. He had no ownership of his own mind. He had no self. Every thought was of questionable integrity.

_This must be what helplessness feels like._

Another memory blindsided him. He was standing in a crowd of hundreds. Men, sweaty, wounded, dirty yet jubilant milled around him, pushing to get to the person on his right. Steve. Steve, but not Steve. This giant, shining hero of a man who just destroyed an entire weapons factory and its garrison nearly single-handed, this man wasn't Steve. He was what they'd turned Steve into. Disappointed and betrayed, he resented whoever had done this to the gentle person who was his friend. Like making a bomb out of surgical implements, making something deadly from something meant to be life-giving. Nonetheless, he knew Steve's heart, his soul had been hell bent on helping out, and for that, he was glad for him. So he raised a shout.

_'Let's hear it for Captain America!'_

The swelling cries that responded made him feel like he was drowning. He was thirsty, but the water was saturated with salt. So he gave into it, let it sweep away his body.

He emerged from the deepest, most vivid memory yet gasping. Whoever he was now, whoever he'd become, it wasn't totally new. He'd once felt the same things, rage, blood on his hands. Someone had taught him to handle a sniper rifle, but it wasn't HYDRA. James 'Bucky' Barnes had killed men from many yards away without remorse. To save Steve, but that didn't change the cold resolve that executed the action. The monster, they'd not made, they'd just coaxed it out, fed it and made it stronger.

He ripped the jacket from his shoulders and bolted across the clearing. He needed to get away. Get back to base.

_Base is gone. You're alone._

He slowed to a jog and then finally stopped. He saw the sun glinting of the unit and froze. People were stealing glances at him. His cover was compromised.

_Stupid!_

The jacket wasn't encaging him. It was protecting him. He returned to his cover and put the jacket back on. There were still people watching him, and despite the urge to snap their necks, he simply walked away. They could report him, but no one could track him.

Except Steve Rogers. He'd found him once, hidden, untraceable in the depths of a metal fortress. Could he find him now? Could he find him beneath this unit? Yes. He'd seen past it once. He'd do it again.

The thought made him jittery, shaking and more hollow than before in his stomach.

_You're nervous_, whispered the darkest corner of his consciousness. _It's okay. He'll save you again._

_'Steve? Steve? Is that you?'… 'Is it permanent?'_

_'So far.'_

He'd saved him before. There was the proof, or as sound a proof as he had available to him. Hell, he'd fought alongside him.

_'Are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?'_

_'Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight, I'm following him.'_

It was like that side, the whispering, muttering side of him was throwing these things in his face. Finding the chinks in his armor and chipping at them. He felt nauseous again.

The emotions were too much. He heaved against a tree but there was nothing there. He needed to eat. There. That was what that feeling was, the gnawing ache in the pit of his gut. Hunger. One down, one step closer to feeling like a man again.

He nicked something from a truck that had been left wide open. Carelessness, but it benefited him. Canned something. Tuna. He cut it open with a knife and discovered that it repulsed him.

_I hate tuna. All those years living off the stuff. Smell makes my stomach turn._

He froze and then, shaking off this new person, shoveled the stinking fish into his mouth anyways. How could he think that? How could those thoughts have been born in his mind. He had no recollection of tuna. He felt heavy, this was sadness, he figured.

The other thing was in a can as well, but he liked this. Almonds, the label read. These were good. He ate the rest of the can and then stepped out of the back alley he'd retreated to to eat his spoils. Something about alleys made him feel warm. Almost like he had memories there. Many safe memories.

Smithsonian Museum complex. 1/2 mile North.

_A good start. The Smithsonian's world famous. It's bound to have something useful in it._

He fought the urge to violently shake the voice from his head. Whatever this was, it was getting louder, more assertive. If it hadn't made him actually feel safe he would have panicked.

The walk was quick, the museum huge, but he had no trouble finding what he was looking for. It was plastered all over several walls and projected on a shimmering screen. His past. Right there, his face, or something his face used to resemble, glowing back at him beside lines of information he had no memory of. His life, now just a story. His death.

_'You're my friend.'_

It was true. He didn't a speak a word falsely. It was all there. The Howling Commandos, James' service among them, his fast friendship with Captain America. 'The only one of the Howling Commandos to give his life in the service of his country.' James with Rogers, smiling, laughing.

He clenched his jaw and fought the spinning of the room. Bewilderment was foremost but pain was a seeping second. He'd been robbed of all this. Friendship, honor, glory, gone. If it really happened.

He exited the museum quickly and found a trash bin. Turned out, he remembered tuna tasting horrible the second time, too. He was also angry. Nothing made sense. His enemy was his friend. His command was full of liars and criminals. His past was lost but retrievable, just locked away in a frozen cell. The key in others' hands.

The trash bin didn't survive his fist impaling it. He left the alley feeling sweaty but cold. He needed more information, something that didn't smack of propaganda.

The library was what felt like an endless walk away, but that may have been because he kept losing track of where he was, when he was and what he was doing. At least once he found himself in a diner's restroom washing his face. He didn't remember going there. Another time, he stopped himself from slicing the throat of a man walking in front of him. He couldn't figure out the trigger for that. Only that he felt utter horror when he became conscious of what he was about to do.

_That's a start, you bastard._

He moved his knife from his left hip to his right. He didn't trust the unit.

On the way, he found a war memorial. James Buchanan Barnes was listed among the fallen heroes.

He threw up again, this time only bile behind a bench.

The library had a metal detector. He wasn't allowed to enter. A young girl took pity on him and asked if she could check anything out for him. He stared at her for several seconds searching for words to respond with but she hurried away, eyes wide, before he found them.

The library had a back door. It's locked handle gave like putty under the unit.

Once inside, he found himself lost. Where to begin?

_History. That exhibit mentioned the past. History._

He walked down aisle after aisle until he found spines that read 'history.' Eventually he found one that read 'American History,' then another, then dozens. Indexes marked his name, there page three-hundred and twelve. Steve Rogers and James 'Bucky' Barnes pictured above. Again, that face. His face.

It took thirteen books before he was satisfied they were recounting something true. The reports varied minutely, one account or two different. Some had different pictures, or no pictures at all but they all seemed to preserving the same basic facts. He had been in the army. He had served in World War II and survived being a POW in a HYDRA facility and participated in over a dozen Howling Commandos missions before dying in the Alps, blasted from a train.

The last book he found had an older photo, an archive image it called it. Bucky stood there, grinning obscenely wide in a suit and tie with a smaller, slighter Steve Rogers beside him in a cap. 'Steve Rogers and James Barnes at Rogers' high school graduation,' the caption read. He tore the page from the book and, folding it neatly, slid it into his right pocket.


	3. 3

He visited the Captain America exhibit three times before someone noticed him.

Today, after a meal of a half-sandwich off a café's outdoor table, he was staring at his old uniform-James' uniform.

_'Don't do anything stupid until I get back.'_ His somber voice rang in his ears.

_'How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.'_ Steve's snark echoed back.

"Can I help you with anything?"

Her voice reminded him of a collateral cost on his eighth mission ago.

"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you. It's just you've been here every day the past week and I was wondering if you wanted something. I'm-I'm a curator here. I know the exhibition pretty well if you have any questions."

He ducked his head further into his hood and spun around her.

"No, ma'am. Thank you." It sounded alien, but he'd definitely said it.

"Alright, well, if you do come back and want anything, you can ask for me at the visitor's desk. My name's Stephanie. Stephanie Kay."

He paused mid-step. Something about her name set off bells in his head, but they weren't alerting him to danger, so he didn't know how to respond. So, he just bobbed his head and marched away.

It was foolish of him, to return again and again, but he couldn't resist. The warning that he might be made wasn't nearly as loud as the urging to discover more about Barnes. And, though the information didn't change, the more he read it, heard it, and saw it, the more real it became for him.

He woke up from a waking stupor in that same diner's bathroom some time later. He was washing his face again. The mirror was something he actively avoided, but this time he stared into it. Into his face, his blue eyes, Bucky's eyes. At his nose and mouth. The stubble on his cheek, the greasy hair framing his face, the only things hiding Bucky under the Asset. He needed them, his cover.

He spent the next few minutes doing what he could to clean himself up. For some reason, his plan for that afternoon required that he be presentably clean. It seemed somewhere he'd gotten a hold of some new clothes, a cotton shirt and blue jeans. He pulled these on and his coat over them and exited the diner. He tried to ignore the man who nodded his head at him.

The sun was bright but not over-warm as he walked south. The museum was teeming with people.

_It must be a weekend_, his Bucky-half mused. He didn't reject the thought this time.

It took some time before he could speak to anyone at the visitor's desk.

"Hi! Welcome to the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. This Weekend we're running a special exhibit featuring Captain America's war-time romance's final message to Steve Rogers. Are you interested in staying around for the film event?"

The tone of this woman's voice astounded him. How could she be that happy?

"No. Thank you, miss. I'm… I'm… looking for Stephanie Kay."

The woman smiled brightly and nodded. "Just a sec!"

Ms. Kay was quite the looker, he found himself noting as she walked quickly towards him. That thought made him uncomfortable. Any measure of attractiveness was not something he could remember explicitly reflecting upon. And yet, it came naturally to him.

_We're going dancing, Steve. _

_Let's take these ladies out for a night on the town, Steve. _

_Care for a double-date, Steve?_

It seemed the thought of ladies was not a new one.

"I'm glad you came back. I was beginning to worry that I'd scared you off." She held out her right hand. "Again, I'm Stephanie Kay."

Bucky took her hand gently. "Ms. Kay. Pleased to meet you."

"Of course. And what might I call you?"

He responded without thinking, "Bucky."

"Oh," her eyes widened and she loosened her grip on his hand, which he took to mean she wanted to run.

He released her and stepped back, but she didn't dart, she just looked at him. It made him uncomfortable. His cover was compromised. He prepared to render her unconscious and run.

"Are you a relative of _the_ Bucky Barnes? Was that why you were so interested in him?"

"Uh… yes, ma'am."

"Please, no 'ma'am' I'm hardly your senior."

He gulped down the rest of the moisture in his mouth and forced his feet to stand in place. "Uh… okay. Ms. Kay."

"Or that, silly!" She lightly tapped his left shoulder and he flinched. She didn't seem to notice. "Just Stephanie."

She smiled at him for a few more seconds and then picked up again. "So, what can I help you with?"

"Do you have… do have more information on James Barnes? Something I can read about besides what's on the displays?"

Her eyes softened into an almost knowing expression and she nodded to her left. "Sure thing. Follow me."

"These, Bucky, are our archives." Stephanie waved around to a vast, cavern-like room full of shelves. "And this here, is our Bucky Barnes box. Help yourself." She pulled out a cardboard box full of things. Not papers, things.

A flask, a helmet, some buttons. A linen shirt, one boot, a medal of honor. A photograph.

It was the very one he'd ripped a reproduction of from that history book. On the back it read, 'Congrats, Steve! Now the fun starts.' The handwriting was familiar. A little blocky, quite messy. His own.

"That's a good one. We've not put it in the exhibition, though. Seemed too personal." Stephanie was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder.

"I agree." He wanted to pocket this one, too, but instead replaced it in the box.

"There's another one here, somewhere." She rifled through the box and pulled up a wrinkled photograph. It looked like it was taken at a fair. There were two ladies, prim and proper in their A-line skirts flanking, again, a grinning Bucky with his arm around Steve's shoulders.

He flinched as soft sounds flitted through his head, laughter, big band music, the tinkling of bells. He had just the vaguest memory of this, of the happiness that night brought. Then spinning, lights and vomit. Steve had puked that night, this was Coney Island with some kind of ride that spun really quickly in a circle.

"The Cyclone?" He pondered aloud.

"What was that?" Stephanie looked up from a file she was reading.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, the Cyclone at Coney Island." She nodded and pointed at the picture. "Captain Rogers talked about that when he came through here."

"I see," he responded quietly and, regretfully reached over to put back that photo as well.

Stephanie stopped him. "Keep it, and here, take this one as well." She fished out the other photograph and set it carefully in his hand. "They're yours anyway-uh, basically."

He looked up as she stumbled over her words. She was sweating slightly, pulse elevated visibly in her jugular, eyes shifting. She was lying.

"You know who I am." He guessed.

Stephanie tittered nervously and then nodded. "Well, yeah. You kind of gave it away by calling yourself Bucky, oh and you look just like, well, you." She pointed to the photograph and then his face.

"But your own exhibition declares me dead. That is quite the leap for an assumption, even with the facts." He responded lazily, more engaged with the photographs and his other belongings than with the now deemed non-threat, Stephanie.

She didn't respond for some time and, when he finally glanced up to see why, he found her studying him.

"You're awful chatty for a dead guy."

"And you are awful calm for one speaking to a supposed dead man." He answered evenly.

This earned a big laugh. "Well, it's not just me, you know? There are tons of forums out there speculating about your survival. A bunch of us-them think that you were even that big, bad super hit man from the other day. The Winter Soldier. Your hair certainly fits the descriptions."

He remained seated but palmed his knife. She was in dangerous territory, so he was absolutely astonished at his own reply.

"I am."

The file fluttered to the floor as she took a calculated step away. Her mouth was barely open, in shock and her pupils were pen points. She seemed genuinely terrified.

_Perfectly reasonable. You just admitted you're a mass murderer._

He held her eye, still and quiet, and then shrugged. "I've gone AWOL. Done with all that."

He waved it away, as if a bothersome fly, and picked up a ring, trying to place it in his memory.

"So… that's just it. Two big reveals like that and you go back to playing with knickknacks?" Her voice was shaking but she sounded affronted, almost disappointed.

"Would you _like_ me to do something more in character?" She didn't respond. "I'm not here for knickknacks. If these were truly Barnes' belongings they could be important."

"You mean yours."

He looked up, seemed to freeze her with his gaze now.

After a moment she explained, "since they're yours they're important."

"That is the question."

"You don't remember?"

"Up until three days ago I didn't know my own name." He paused, adding quietly, "I'm still not sure I do."

"Oh, you're Bucky Barnes. I've seen him in here enough, in the old news reels, too, to know. You're him."

"That remains to be seen." He carefully slipped the photographs into his coat pocket and made to stand. It was time to leave. Stephanie was too well informed.

"Wait! Don't go. Here. Just… just take it all. It's yours, really." She gently pushed the box into his chest and then spun around for the file she'd dropped earlier. "And this too, this is the de-classified file on you from the SSR. Might as well have it."

He looked at the first box of his possessions he could recall having and then the woman with the eager expression in front of him. His response was a reflex. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Really, no ma'am." She reached out to pat the unit again but stopped when she caught him watching. "Just… take care, I guess? I'm…I'm glad you're AWOL. Bucky Barnes is a hero. Just his nature." She shrugged and crossed her arms, a defensive posture. She must have suddenly felt threatened.

"And, um… if you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Food, a couch to crash on, anything."

He studied her face, still, unflushed, pulse normal, eyes unfaltering. She was being genuine.

"Thank you, Stephanie Kay." He took his new-old things and slipped past her before she could respond. The back door was well marked and he was gone in an instant.

Old friends he had discovered were supposedly real, a new friend he appeared to have made. Suddenly he wasn't so alone, so empty.

* * *

**A/N: FYI:The story is finished. I'll be uploading a chapter twice a day (maybe two chapters at once some days) until we reach 24. So, expect at least one upload a day, and then I'm done. Period. I simply can't spend any more time on stuff I'm not getting paid to do!**


	4. 4

The park ceased to be a convenient or secure place to sleep that night, however. After he had stashed his belongings in a small grotto by the river, he walked back through the woods and stopped at the tree line. There were cops scattered across the clearing, strategically placed at each key sight line. There was no way he could sleep there again without bloodshed, and he was done killing beyond utter life and death situations.

Slipping back into the shadows of the unlit foliage, he wandered through the woods looking for another spot with cover. Unfortunately, the trees, dense as they were, had no undergrowth and offered no ground cover. The other problem was, he was hungry. The pain was fairly prominent, probably because he'd only eaten once and very little that morning.

Instinct told him to steal something, to wait outside a restaurant and make do, not rely on anyone else. The small, talkative part of him merely said, she said 'anything'. And he was tired, suddenly bone weak and aching. Check two, hunger and exhaustion.

She knew who he was, she wouldn't ask any invasive questions, and this way he could watch her for a while to make sure she didn't report him.

Once there, the idea of real food and a bunk to bed down in was nearly mesmerizing, and certainly impossible to brush aside. He could clean his wounds properly, shower. He had to.

_'You could stay like old times, it could be fun. You'd just shine my shoes, maybe take out the garbage.'_

_'Thanks, Buck, but I can handle it on my own.'_

_'That's what I'm telling you, that you don't have to. I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.'_

He gasped, finding himself on the ground, grass in his mouth and nostrils. Knees hard pressed into his chest, he was gathered as close into himself as possible, protecting his center from the pain, but to no avail. It seemed to originate from there.

He wished these jolts of memory would stop, that they would only surface when summoned. Unexpected, they were worse than bullets. Certainly ripped through him as quickly, but left bigger, deeper holes. It had been the day of a funeral, he'd offered for Steve to come live with him. No one needed to be alone.

Alone.

The word reverberated through him and drove him to his feet again. He didn't need to be either.

Finding Stephanie was easier than was safe for her. He followed her from the museum's employee exit to her car without her noticing. Luckily for him she stayed late.

"You should be more alert when you're on your own."

She leapt nearly a foot into the air and dropped all of her things. "Jeez! You startled me."

"Any attacker could have done the same," he pointed out more explicitly.

"Apparently," she regained her composure and started gathering her things. Bucky bent down to help. "What can I help you with, Bucky?"

"I… You… Earlier you offered-"

"You need somewhere to stay? It's okay, I offered." She ducked to look into his face. In the light her eyes looked about three different colors and her face shimmered strangely, but again by all signs she seemed sincere.

"It would be appreciated, thank you, miss-Stephanie," he corrected as she frowned.

"No worries. I've even got some food at home, if you're interested." She grinned as he nodded and then opened her car door. "Okay, get in."

Compared to what he could remember ever habitating, her place was enormous. Comically, the size was the first thing she apologized for, the tidiness next, also unnecessary.

"It's just I'm hardly ever here. I live at work basically. Make yourself at home." She waved to the couch, which looked so appealing, but he remained standing, like her. "I've got pizza and pasta and some chicken from yesterday. Also some frozen meals, but they're usually nasty. Oh, and if you want I've even got some ex's clothes in the spare bedroom if you want to shower and change."

In all honesty, he had no idea how to respond, he was overwhelmed. Such luxury. Stephanie turned around to him as he considered.

"None of that sound good?"

"Uh-no. T-the opposite, actually." He added lamely.

"That's cool, I'll get you set up in the shower and heat up all the food while you're in there. I bet you're starving."

She left him alone in what she called the spare room at first then 'your room' after laying out some linens and the clothes she mentioned earlier. He surveyed the area and then stashed his box behind a heating grate. The shower was singularly satisfying. It was also something that came effortlessly to him, naturally recalled, which was itself rewarding. Afterwards, looking at himself in the mirror, the mangled remains of his left shoulder was off-putting, so he avoided the mirror from then on. The clothes were clean and soft, and smelled vaguely familiar, like something he'd known for a long time. Putting them on felt alien but comforting at the same time.

"Okay, I've got pepperoni pizza, fettuccini alfredo, chicken piccatta and two Stoffer's baked pies, turkey pot and chicken pot. Which one do you want?"

He stared at the selection of food and found the decision to be impossible.

"Here, I'll help you out. I really only want some of the pizza. You can have the rest." She picked up two of the pizza slices and then hopped up onto her counter.

He looked at the remaining food and then back at her. "Are you sure?"

Her face cracked into a smile. "Absolutely. Go for it."

He ate all of it, and quickly, but not as quickly as he could have, as he wanted. He was with a lady, after all. The thought again surprised him, but he accepted it as true.

"I should have approached you yesterday," she sounded regretful. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were on the streets. I let a war hero go homeless! Shameful."

"Thank you, but your regret is…" He couldn't find the words. He was out of practice. "This is my responsibility." He finished off the last crumbs of the pot pie and stared wistfully at the empty dishes in front of him. "Thank you, again."

"Not a problem. Glad to help." She cleared his plates and then sat back on the counter, considering him. "Why'd you come back? I mean, not to press or seem like I don't want you here, because I'm glad to help."

"I…" he studied his hands as he thought on the best response, he went with honesty. "I found myself… alone and…" the word was hard for him to say, "vulnerable. The police were scouting my sleeping place and I was… well, obviously very hungry and too exhausted to steal anything."

She nodded along as he spoke, looking quickly at his unit and then away. Only then did he realize he'd left it exposed. He reached towards it with his arm in a vain effort to cover it.

"Sorry. I know it's unsettling-"

"No, no, it's totally fine. I just forgot about the prosthesis. Sorry for staring." She blushed and began inspecting her fingernails.

"It's hardly a prosthesis," he muttered.

"I suppose not, it moves and works like a real limb."

He'd meant it was a cursed piece of machinery, a tag of his shame, an instillation that would never let him be truly, fully human.

"May I…" she reached out, a question on her face, and he instinctively flinched away. "Oh, sorry. Yeah, that's a weird thing to ask a person, Steph." She grimaced and turned away.

"If you want," he finally replied, just barely a whisper. "I'm not really fond of it, so that…that was shame not, uh, anything else." He still didn't have full command of the array of human emotions.

She smiled gently and edged back around to him. He extended the unit and laid it palm up on the counter. Her fingers were incredibly delicate on its surface. The rudimentary electrical responses he felt from it instead of nerve reactions could barely pick up her fingertips. But he could see her touching it.

"It's really incredible," she said finally, wonder lightening her voice. "Even if you hate it."

She laid her palm on the upper portion of the unit, this he could soundly 'feel'. He moved and flexed and turned it as she looked it over.

"It looks almost perfect anatomically. I mean, there are some damages, but the way it moves, it's like muscle. Do you… do you need this repaired?" She lightly tapped the damaged portions.

He looked away from her then, finding something almost… humorous? But nothing about this situation was funny. "I've deserted the only facility capable of doing so, even so it's fallen."

"You have really lovely eyes. Maybe you should start looking at people when you talk, just, you know, for practice. Eye contact's important."

He suddenly felt very warm.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, I was just commenting."

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. If this was embarrassment, he could do without it.

"Uh, may I see where it… ends and you… begin? Is it just your arm or-"

On reflex, a trained response, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, sitting back as if in the repair chair.

"Oh, I just meant…" She trailed off, looking into his face. "Bucky?"

He blinked slowly and then more quickly as the fog receded.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Sometimes I get… lost. My mind is…erratic. I think, you somehow triggered a habitual response, something in my post-mission base protocol." He sat back still nonetheless, noticing that she was fascinated with the mangled strip of flesh abutting the unit.

"Did…did this hurt?" She traced the scar with the very tip of one finger.

He just barely kept from shivering. "Like you couldn't imagine."

"Oh my god. How did this even happen? Was it... Was it the fall?"

He nodded and she covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," he sighed and pulled the shirt back over his head.

"Wait. Are you, oh god, you're injured." She bent over towards the bandages he'd just covered, but he stood and stepped towards the room declared his for the night.

"I'm bandaged and the wounds are clean. I'll be fine, thank you. Good night."

"Alright, if you say so. Maybe tomorrow."

He nodded noncommittally and finally turned away.

"Goodnight, Bucky." She called behind him, but he was half-running to that bed, practically asleep on his feet.


	5. 5

_'Bucky! Bucky! I thought you were dead!'_

_'I thought you were smaller…'_

He sat bolt upright and, for a split second, he could have sworn he heard machine gun rickets and the shouts of battle, felt the warm palm in his own, saving him. Instead, he was alone in a dark room. A voice coming from the room next door.

He crept out and found Stephanie's door ajar, a surprisingly large and flat television on and displaying some overly colorful program from the wall. That explained the voice, because Stephanie was nowhere to be seen. Then he spotted the light beneath her bathroom door. She was there. It was fine. He could go back to sleep.

Even sleep wasn't a peaceful escape.

_'You don't have to. 'Cause I'm with you to the end of the line, pal.'_

_What in the hell is wrong with his face-shit, he's pulling it off. Jiminy, that's rotten. 'You don't have one of those do you?'_

_'…that kid from Brooklyn who was too stupid… But, you're keeping the outfit, right?'_

_'I'm invisible. I'm turning into you. It's-it's like a horrible dream.'_

_'Don't take it so hard. Maybe she's got a friend.'_

_'Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?'_

_'Yeah, and I threw up.'_

_'This isn't payback, is it?'_

_'Now why would I do that?'_

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. Hate heights. I hate heights. Shit._

_'I had him on the ropes.'_

_'I know you did.'_

_The Shield. Use the shield. Oh-God damn it. I'm going to die. This is it. Steve!_

_'Bucky! Hang on! Grab my hand.'_

_Reach. Reach. Hold on and re-_

_'No!'_

_Falling. Falling feels almost weightless, if it weren't for the utter terror in my stomach. The wind, maybe the wind'll blow me. God, I'm screaming. The last noise I'm going to make in this world is a scream? No._

_'Steve-'_

He was already on his feet as the dream released him. Like a stuck faucet, once these memories were re-tapped, there was no stopping them. And they brought others with them. Less welcomed ones.

At least the photograph made a little more sense now.

He must have slept for longer than he thought, since the sun was just starting to rise. After retrieving his box from behind the air grate, he quietly made his way back to the seat he'd taken at the bar the previous night. He wanted to read that file.

It, like the history books, corroborated all that Rogers and his memories had told him. Except it had more data. Pages of facts, births and deaths of his family, the causes for death, childhood illnesses, James' medical records. Shoe size, blood type, favored hand, special skills, and mounds of other facts. But nothing that actually helped him with his identity. These were pieces of information, they merely informed his life, they didn't constitute it. Not like those memories that left him sick, sweating, and dizzy. That was his life, locked away and only eking out in bits and random pieces.

"If only it'd come back in order," he mumbled and flipped another page. Mission logs. He didn't want to see those, not right now. Then he saw it, HYDRA train, Alps. He read the log, marking every instance it fit over the last part of his dream-memory.

Maybe he could put it all in order with this file.

He was just finishing the report of his rescue when he heard soft footfalls in the hallway.

"Oh, you're already up." She scoffed, "of course, you're already up. Sorry."

"HYDRA experimented on me. Before this." He jerked his chin at the unit and then handed the file to Stephanie.

She took it but didn't look at it. "Yeah, we know. Sorry. About… all that. No one should have to… you know."

"It's the reason I didn't die when I fell from that train. It's the reason Zola could turn me into this… thing." He couldn't meet her eyes so he looked out the window.

"Actually, I think the technical term is cyborg. Any combination of organic material and cybernetics… sorry."

"Cyborg. Strange word."

"Yeah, the forums were all in a tizzy thinking that the assassin had to be you because the original theory was that Schmidt, when he had you in that factory, used you to test out other supersoldier serums, because that was what he was so obsessed with. So, when this guy showed up all supersoldier-y they all jumped to it being you. It fit. Turns out, perfectly.

"Hmm." Sometimes he missed the mask. Words were often a heavier burden than muzzled silence.

"Yeah. Anyways. I have to head out. There are eggs in the fridge and take-out menus in the drawer. I've got some cash there beside them. Here." She placed a briefcase-like object down in front of him and then opened it. It was a computer. He'd seen them before, at base.

"There's this thing, called the internet. I think it's time for you to find out about it. You just… there, click on things with this cursor, yep. Like that, and then type here on this keyboard-in the, in the bar there. Good. You can find almost anything on the internet. Have fun. Why don't you try SHIELD and HYDRA first. They recently went public."

He looked up at her from the screen to decode the tone to her voice. She was smiling but there was a glint to her eye. Something she was hiding. He would look into it later.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Bucky. And if you do decide to leave, please lock up with the key I keep behind the apartment number."

He nodded but was already focused on this computer. She was right. There was much to be learned about SHIELD and HYDRA, from their own files.

In two hours, he had absorbed far more information than he could ever remember retaining. It was addicting. The more he read, the more he wanted to know. And not just things about himself, things about others like him. Hit men, assassins turned straight, others like Rogers, super heroes. Aliens in New York, he must've be in cryo for that. Soldiers exploding, men spitting fire, AIM, something called a Hulk which looked just as terrifying as it sounded, who strangely enough spent most of his time as a small scientist. Stark. Stark. Howard's kid. Weird. Apple didn't fall far from the tree there. Fury. He'd killed that man, or thought he had. Barton, Romanoff, Hill, Coulson, all agents of what used to be SHIELD.

There were so many out there like him. Barton and Romanoff had done horrible things, their minds taken from them. What in the hell was a Loki?

"Holy cow, those guys are big."

"That's because they're basically gods." The door shut quietly behind him. He hadn't heard Stephanie come in.

He scoffed, "basically doesn't cut it. In my book, there's just the one-" He stopped mid-sentence, again speaking without realizing it.

"Huh, looks like you're starting to remember some things. You're a monotheist. That's a good start." She set a bag down on the counter beside him and sat down. "Those two are pretty incredible though, Thor and Loki. Loki tried to take over New York a year or so ago with all this cricket aliens with big whale ships. It was freaky but the Avengers stopped them- that SHIELD organized team there."

She pointed to the screen, to all the people he'd been reading about.

"Is that Howard Stark's kid?"

"Tony Stark? Yep. You see, Thor and Loki come from this other planet, Asgard, where they live a lot longer and are a lot stronger. The Old Norse did worship them as gods, you know. Pretty much because they have super powers. Thor's got lightning and that hammer and Loki can do magic. It's wild."

"Unbelievable."

"Yep. So, have you… uh, learned a bunch?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have-sorry." He ducked his head apologetically for the ma'am. "Out of habit."

"It's fine. Have you eaten anything?"

"No. I… forgot." It was embarrassing, his sporadic ineptitude at being human.

"That's cool, I'll order something in. You like Chinese?"

"As a people, I have no problem with them." He shrugged, confused. Stephanie just laughed.

"No, the food, their cuisine."

"Well, I can't say I've had much experience with it. Sorry."

She chuckled again and walked over to the take-out drawer. "I'll get you something mild. I bet you'll like it."

She picked up the phone and started dialing but there was a knock on the door. He was on his feet, knife in his hand in an instant. Stephanie just walked past him.

"Stand down, soldier. I invited over a guest."

He put away the knife but followed her closely to the door, poised and ready to fight.

"Seriously, Bucky, he's cool. Stand down."

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped back and ignored her glare.

The door revealed minimal threat. Small man, under five ten, medium build, skittish with glasses. A scientist.

"Bucky, this is Ben Snow. He works at a sister museum, restoring machinery but he's really a cybernetics buff. I was hoping he could fix up your arm."

"The unit," he grunted.

"Your…unit." Stephanie and this scientist exchanged a look. "So, come on in Snow. Like I told you, this is Bucky. He's been… undercover."

"Alright. Let's see the… unit. Could you sit for me?"

Bucky sat obediently on the nearest arm chair and stared at the little man as he pulled out a collection of tools from a bag. They all seemed vaguely familiar, but more sophisticated.

"Uh… the shirt?"

Bucky removed his shirt but never let the other man out of his sight.

"Laser-beam focused, aren't you?" He sat down beside Bucky and just inspected the arm. "Uh… Stephanie? Yeah, Stephanie, could you… pull up the program on your computer?"

His brow furrowed focusing on the unit as Stephanie brought over the computer, screen bright with a new display.

"Howard Stark's technology," Bucky observed.

"Tony Stark's," the other man corrected. "Now, I'm going to engage the diagnostics on this unit. Let me know if you feel it glitching."

"Glitching?"

"Having some kind of malfunction." He nodded as the unit started flexing and exposing its wiring. "Decent tech, solid hardware. A little outdated. Could improve the reaction time with…" He trailed off and Bucky noticed that Stephanie was shaking her head ever so slightly.

Suddenly he was on guard again. Something was off.

"Sorry, Bucky, Ben sometimes babbles as he works. It's so annoying, right?" She smiled apologetically and he relaxed. Mannerisms. The two of them knew each other fairly well, could communicate wordlessly. He knew how that felt, that distant look on Rogers' face-

"Now." He felt the electrical surge in his shoulder. "It's… glitching now."

"Got it." Snow pulled out something like a soldering tool and began adjusting the insides of the unit.

Bucky felt relief immediately.

"I could upgrade you, you know. I'm pretty familiar with armor design, creating something akin to nerves, muscle fibers and bone wouldn't be a far stretch from my… firm's products." They had exchanged another furtive glance. It slowed Snow but he kept right on. "I could even make it look like flesh, I bet."

He stared hard into Snow's eyes, but the other man was cool and collected, had something in that look that was defiant and brimming with confidence. He was serious.

"I mean, that surgical site looks pretty bad. We've got top rate surgeons now, plastics etc. who could fix that up for you, others who could probably make the joint between the machinery and your bio-material more comfortable. I know a guy…"

"Ahem." Stephanie cleared her throat. "Now, you behave, Ben, while I go order the food. Preference?"

"Mushu pork." He waited until she was gone and looked Bucky dead in the eye again. "So, you really almost beat the shit out of Steve Rogers, huh? Did you punch him right in his high and mighty face?"

Bucky stilled completely. _Eye on the target, count breaths. One. Two. Three._

"Are you okay? Is it glitching again? I can see if-"

"You know Rogers."

Snow stopped, a frown on his face. "Well… not really. More of an acquaintance who happens to be a pain in my ass."

"What's a pain in your ass, Ben?"

"Nothing. There. All fixed up." He tapped the command sequence and the unit buzzed back to life.

"He was just saying-"

"Jesus, are you bleeding, man?" Snow cut him off and pointed to his bare abdomen. He was, in fact, wounded but the blood was old.

"Oh, we should get you cleaned up. I wish you'd have let me fix you up last night." Stephanie was properly distracted from Snow, who had turned towards her, scandal written on his face.

"He stayed here with you last night? Ro-man, that's… special." He cleared his throat and smiled wolfishly.

"Roman?" Bucky wondered aloud.

"Yes, just a strange nickname. How else would he be here at lunch. Yes, he stayed in my spare room. He has nowhere else to go."

Snow just widened his eyes some and pursed his lips.

"Anyway, Bucky, you stay there. I'm going to go get my first aid kit."

"You know each other."

Snow shrugged. "We've worked together a few times."

"Hmm."

"Listen, I was serious about the upgrade. The tech's good, but it's got its weaknesses. I could make it near to God perfect."

"I'll think about it," he muttered, staring harder at this Snow. There was more there than he was letting on. He didn't trust him. "Who are you?"

"Ben Snow. Weapons tech specialist."

Bucky sat back stunned. He was having an attack.

_'Howard Stark, weapons tech specialist and resident civvy genius, at your service.'_

_'Pleased to meet you.'_

_'I've got Cap all fixed up, maybe I can work out something special for you. You like sniper rifles?'_

Bucky blinked rapidly and clenched his teeth. He was shuddering.

"Man, are you alright? Seriously. Hey! Problem in here! I think I triggered him somehow. Like, serious PTSD episode!"

Stephanie came jogging back in. "Bucky? Bucky?"

_'Bucky?'_

_'Steve?'_ "Steve?"

_'Is that you?'_ "Is that you?"

_'I thought you were dead.'_

_'I thought you were smaller.'_ "I thought you were smaller."

"He's having a flashback."

"Are those his memories?"

"Yes, I think he's remembering the HYDRA prison camp Rogers saved him from."

"Bummer."

"No, it's good. Bucky? Are you alright?"

He snapped back, sweaty but clear when she grabbed his hand.

"Are you still with us?"

"Yes."

She looked concerned but not panicked. Now, Snow, he looked panicked. Snow…

"You're not Ben Snow."

Both of their faces dropped immediately. "What?" They asked in unison.

"I don't know. I don't know why. I just know that you're not Ben Snow. That's not who you are. Stop. STOP LYING TO ME!" He clasped his head in his hands as rage surged through him, as the kill protocol relayed through his joints.

"NO. GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" He was on his feet again, stumbling, swinging blindly, but they were already out of his range. "GET-GET OUT. Get… get-" He gasped for air, clean, clear air and sank down to his knees against the wall.

"They lied-lied to me. Told me I was part of-of progress." Empty faces. Innocent faces floated before him. _'The work of an artist. This world will be our masterpiece.'_

"I wasn't. Now you're lying, too. YOU'RE LYING! But… I don't know why. Why?" _'Who uses false identities, Operative? People hiding something. What do the innocent have to hide?'_

"Who are you? Are you them?" _'Hail HYDRA.'_

"Are you HYDRA? I WILL NOT GO BACK!" He wanted to lash out, to run, but his body was frozen. It wouldn't respond. It was ready for debriefing.

Stephanie floated into his frame of vision. She knelt in front of him, hands above her. "Bucky, we're not here to hurt you. And we're not HYDRA. We're SHIELD. Ex-SHIELD."

She flashed momentarily before him and then the world faded to black.


	6. 6

_'Where are we going?'_

_'To the future.'_

_'…with Stark gravitic reversion technology…'_

_'Steve?'_

_'Where are we going?'_

_'To the future.'_

_'The future…'_

"…he's been electro-cleared so many times, I think, the memory surge literally short-circuited him."

"Software's corrupted."

"Stark."

"What? Metaphor fits."

"Be a little sensitive."

"What? Why? He's a potential threat, like you said."

"He's also a potential ally, an important one, especially for Rogers."

"Yeah, he seems pretty Brokeback for him."

"They were best friends, Stark. How would you like it if Rhodes or Banner were turned into a brainwashed agent of your destruction?"

"It would blow chunks."

"Exactly."

"You're just soft with him because of what happened to Barton."

"Maybe. And you're just resentful because the brainwashing thing triggers your anxiety attacks about New York."

There was a gasp. "Could you not name it, with its… name? I mean if you know anything about PTSD patients you know-"

"Quiet. I think he's coming to. Barnes? James Buchanan Barnes? Bucky."

Two people came flashing into view. They were several feet away. It was Stephanie and Snow, or looked like them. He was calmer now, being able to hear people when they didn't know he was listening had a soothing effect. Made him more secure about their motivations.

"You're Howard Stark's kid."

Snow shrugged. "Cat's out of the bag."

Stephanie snapped out and slapped his hand down. "Snow."

"What? Seriously he just made me. Why keep up the charade?"

It looked like she was mulling it over. "Fine. Maybe you're right. But slowly."

She turned back to him, to Bucky. "Okay, Bucky, this is going to come as a bit of a shock, but we're deep undercover. You know what that's like. Gotta keep your cover, no matter what."

He nodded. He did know. That didn't mean he trusted them any more, maybe made him even more wary.

"I know that doesn't comfort you at all, but it's the truth. But you've made Stark, fast, too. Maybe because he couldn't keep his big mouth shut." She glared over at Stark. "Bucky, meet Tony Stark."

Stark reached up to his face and tugged at his jaw line. His face flashed suddenly then flickered out leaving a ghost. Bucky audibly gasped.

"I know, damn dashing, aren't I?"

"You're a spitting image-"

"Of my old man, yeah, I've heard that before." He held out his hand before Stephanie could stop him.

Bucky just looked at it.

"Tony Stark, or Iron Man. You can call me either, though I've got the arc reactor removed. Resident genius."

He felt a cold sweat wash over him. It was like déjà vu, real déjà vu. He sounded just like his father. Slowly, very slowly, Bucky reached out the unit and clasped Stark's hand. He, it seemed, had made a point to use his left hand.

"I was serious though. Call me up anytime and I'll get you set up with a Stark cybernetic arm. You'll look like your old self, all human." He grinned winningly.

"Thank…you." Bucky felt the words involuntarily roll off his tongue. It was a good offer. And he wanted to trust Stark. Howard's kid.

"Not a problem. I love a good puzzle like this. Really I've been meaning to move into the cybernetics. I think I could even get my suit to be fully cybernetic if I wanted. Though, technically, I'm retired. Blew 'em all up for Pep last Christmas. That last one though, that technically was cybernetic. I implanted tracers in my arms, it responded to my biosigns. It would have been pretty bitching if it didn't keep-"

"Stark."

Bucky's eyes must have been glazing over because everything became less fuzzy when Stephanie snapped.

"Oh, sorry. Overload. Wouldn't want to short-circuit you again. You know, Bruce has a lot of experience in hormonal and neural response training etc. I bet he could help you out, controlling your memories."

"Stark…" she warned again.

"Okay. I'm done. I'm quiet. I'll leave you to it." He sat back on his heels as Stephanie inched forward a little, but still out of Bucky's immediate range.

"Alright, Bucky, this is going to be a little worse. My name's Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Do you… does that name mean anything to you?"

There were a few flashes, some gun fire, a bit of shouting but nothing new. His memories, those without Steve, all seemed to be made up of that.

"Maybe from a mission."

"Yeah." She nodded and lifted up her shirt slightly. An angry white pucker rested above her hip. "You've shot me a few times."

He looked down. He knew he should feel shame, guilt and regret but the feelings were still unpredictable. He only knew that he didn't want to meet her eye.

"I didn't-"

"Yeah, you were under orders, under control. Muzzled. I remember. Don't worried about it." She waited until he looked back up again. "Remember, I'm not here to do anything but bring you back into the world, just remember that, in case my face is a trigger."

"Back into the world," he echoed dully.

She nodded and reached to her jaw, just like Stark had, and, just like him, her face flashed then flickered as she peeled a mask off. Red. Red and cream and a glint of blue. Red, white, and blue. He remembered that face. He had shot her. She'd also tried to take his head off with a wire. But that was probably because he was shooting at her and… and Rogers. She worked with Rogers.

"You're a member of that team. The one Rogers helped with."

"Yup." Stark chimed in. "The Avengers. Earth's mightiest heroes, that whole shabang."

"I am. I was, yes."

"You weren't always."

She looked dead at him, the blue of her eyes shifting slightly to green. She was daunting. "No, I wasn't always."

"Then there's a way."

"A way to what?" Stark asked. Romanoff merely continued to gaze hard at him.

"To atone." He looked down at the unit, before they could respond, before he could see the pity in their eyes. At least he could anticipate their emotional responses.

_Hey, getting better._

"Absolutely. We've all done some shitty stuff, man. For the first few decades of my life I made billions war-profiteering. That's pretty damn disreputable. But I straightened out. You can too. Natasha here, she was just like you… what was it you said? Red in your ledger?"

She whipped around and fixed Stark with that stare, but he was unfazed.

"Yeah, she killed as many as you probably and look at her. Superhero."

"Thank you, Stark." She didn't sound grateful.

"I'm not stable." He was an active land mine, just waiting for the right amount of pressure to go off.

Romanoff seemed to know this already. She nodded quickly. "We know. But with some reconditioning, some therapy, you can be."

"I'm dangerous."

"Yes. But so are we all."

"And untrustworthy. A… thing."

Her face flinched in pain and then reset. Stark blinked with something like sympathy behind her.

"No. Everyone is untrustworthy, I'll give you that. But not a thing, a man." She nodded with some kind of finality and then extended her hand as well. "Pleased to meet you, Bucky Barnes. I'm Natasha."

He sullenly took her hand, this time with his real hand, and shook weakly.

"I have someone else that I want you to meet. He… well, he gets what you're going through."

Bucky grimaced in disbelief. It was odd, feeling his face make that expression, but he went with it. It was how he felt. Who could know what he was going through? "He's been robbed of his life and brainwashed to destroy the last remnants of it?"

"Yes, but shorter term. No one can truly, completely understand your experience, but he's the closest we've got."

Stark coughed behind her, but Natasha ignored him.

"And you?"

Her face stayed firm but her eyes dilated momentarily. "Indoctrination is not the same as forceful recalibration. Sure, we're both victims but I'm one of circumstance, not just people." She looked down at her hands for a moment and then faced him again recomposed. "No, Barton is the best choice. For now."

"And Rogers?" He wasn't sure if he was hopeful or cautious in his question.

Natasha seemed to take it as hope. Her mouth twitched downward into a frown and her eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Barnes, but we don't think it's safe yet. He's too powerful a trigger for you. It is best if you reintegrate yourself into the world as it is in the present and then rewrite your past. Rogers is too intimately tied with your past, all of your past. Good and bad. Like we just saw, with Stark, even the good past can set off episodes."

"Who said the old man is a good part of his past-oh."

Bucky must have glared at him, because Stark stopped abruptly and held up his hands. "Sorry, Darth, didn't know the Vader was a pal."

He spasmed slightly, shutting tight his eyes to press back the flashes. It seemed to work that time.

"Not that word, Stark."

"Oh, yeah. In Cap's report. Sorry, man."

Natasha focused again on him, eyes sharp and observant. She was waiting for him to succumb to an attack.

"I'll be alright. I shut that one down."

"Good. A good start. Just ignore Stark, he's a genius but he's also an inconsiderate egoist. Doesn't realize how his actions affect others."

"Now, that's not fair. I've been… working on all that."

"And getting better, but there's obviously still room for improvement."

"Very human," Bucky muttered and Natasha flashed a tiny grin.

"Exactly."

"What's Darth? Vader… is father. But what's Darth?"

Stark snorted and stood up, shaking his head. "You're as bad as the Capsicle. Seriously, you have so much to catch up on. Try _Star Wars_. Hell, if you ever need pop culture recs, call me. Actually, just… come to me. I'll take care of you, like with that upgrade."

He winked and then sauntered to the door. "Tasha, Stark out. That's _Star Trek_ for you, Deep Freeze. Ooo, you're gonna be fun."

"Deep Freeze?" He asked weakly.

Natasha sighed, "Stark's very enthusiastic about nicknames. You'll get used to it. You probably won't understand them all just yet, but you'll get used to them. Deep Freeze… referring to your cryo-sleep."

"Oh," he responded lamely. That wasn't a pleasant moniker. "I don't like it."

"You probably won't like any of them."

"What about his food?" Bucky suddenly remembered that food was on its way. He was very hungry.

"Oh, you can have it," Natasha smiled sadly. "My thinking was that you probably needed it more."

"And Darth?"

"It's… it's part of the movie he mentioned. The mythology has… well, maybe you shouldn't watch _Star Wars_ just yet, at least not all of them."

Bucky looked down at the unit and had a feeling that it was part of that nickname. "I don't like that one either."

Natasha held out her hand to him again, which he just looked at. "Let's go back to the kitchen, okay?"

He nodded but didn't take her hand. He still didn't trust her.

Natasha noticed and drew a deep breath, hands on her hips beside the holster he hadn't seen before. The walk to the kitchen was awkward, Natasha taking the lead with a two foot diameter but still with him in her line of sight. She didn't trust him either.


	7. 7

Barton arrived after their meal, which had been composed of forced conversation on Natasha's part and wary silence on Bucky's. Barton, however, was a whole new element in the mix. If Natasha's caution manifested in active attempts to mollify and Bucky's in passive watchfulness, it didn't seem that Barton had an approach. He was neither tactful nor quiet. Indeed, he appeared to have permanently thrown caution to the wind, and not like Stark who was all bravado and hidden insecurities. Barton genuinely did not appear to care, not even a lick.

He marched directly into the kitchen, where Natasha was showing Bucky how to use a microwave, and tossed his arm around both their shoulders. "Hey guys, what's going on? Catching up on the appliances? Good call."

Bucky stiffened, stilling down to just subtle breathing. _Think, evaluate, then respond. Think, evaluate, then respond._

"Uh… Barton. Recent PTS victim under your left hand. Maybe try not approaching him from behind, and _touching_ him."

Barton withdrew his hand and nodded. "Yeah. That was bad, wasn't it?"

"Yes. From now on, we regard all attempts to initiate physical contact as possible triggers and definite aggressive movements." She shook her head hard at him and then guided him away so she could take a look at Bucky.

He was breathing less subtly now, panting really. His mind was shrieking, riddled with high pitched noises like interference or nails on a chalkboard. Most of it reacting to the fact that he hadn't defended himself by killing this attacker-man.

_He wasn't attacking. The gesture was empty of threat. He was initiating friendly interaction. Breathe._

But it was too late. He lost it. There were a few flashes, sensory memories. His arm being further amputated, then attached and around Steve's shoulder. The smell of pot roast, no, his own flesh being soldered. Popcorn and soda. Cold. Scorching heat. Steve again, taller, stronger, holding him up under that shoulder.

_'You don't have one of those, do you?'_

He came to screaming. His face was wet, which he realized as he reached up to cover his mouth.

"Shh. Shh. You're safe. It's 2014. You're Bucky Barnes, I'm Natasha and your safe." Red, white, and blue, blurred but taking up his entire field of vision. As he blinked over and over again, the colors defined into Natasha's face.

She looked perfectly calm, controlled. She knew what was happening to him.

"There. Are you back? It's okay, you're not bleeding."

He looked down at his fingers. Sure enough, the liquid was clear, not red.

"You were crying. It's fine. It's good." She nodded assuringly. "It's a very natural, welcome emotional reaction."

"Where am I?" The room was unfamiliar.

"You tried to bolt out the window in my room. We had to tackle you." She shifted to the side and Barton nodded down at him.

"It's cool, man. I remember that shit. Felt like someone was making scrambled eggs out of my brain."

He looked appreciatively up at Barton. For a second, he felt like he actually shared an experience with another human being. That was precisely what it felt like. Maybe this one did understand.

"Are you ready to get up?" Natasha was hovering but keeping her distance. This time she didn't offer him her hand.

"Yes. I think so." He moved off his side and propped himself up on his real elbow, slowly easing himself onto his feet from there. "At least I've stopped vomiting with them." He mentioned off-handedly.

"I'm glad for that too, man. My thing was hyperventilating until I lost consciousness."

"I've done that, too." He could speak easily with Barton, they shared this. It made him feel less like a caged animal.

"Mmm. What about randomly trying to claw your own face off? That was super."

Bucky hadn't done that, and that was a relief. With the unit, trying probably would have turned into succeeding. "No, can't say I have. I did put the unit through a trash can once."

Barton snorted. "Let me guess, you woke up with it and had no idea why."

"No, I thought it was a hostile."

"Fair enough." Barton stopped again in the kitchen and sat down. "So, where do you want to begin? What it feels like or how I came to grips with how it feels?"

Bucky considered that for a moment but was distracted. He looked around. They were alone. "Where's Natasha?"

"Oh, she's giving us some space. This is pretty personal, you know?" He leaned over the counter towards Bucky, but he still wasn't looking at him. He was looking for her. "Plus, better for you not to feel outnumbered."

"What if I attack you?"

"I'm pretty quick, man. And I've got this." He held up a small gun-like weapon. "Taser, dude. It'll knock you on your ass but not damage you. You ready?"

Bucky found himself wishing nonetheless that Natasha was there, but he sat down compliantly and nodded. "Yes."

"Okay, let's start with-"

"Tell me what happened to you-please."

Barton shrugged lightly and nodded. "Alright. Hopefully it doesn't trigger you." He leaned back against the opposing counter and looked up at the ceiling.

"It was Loki, you know, the slimy bastard with the scepter and the horns? Well, that time he brought the aliens to New York, part of his plan was to… enslave a group of humans to expedite his plan. I was one of them."

"With magic."

"Yeah, with magic. This staff he had… he just touched me with it and it was like he drained me out, bottled me in a tiny little section of my head, and then put something else in. Something else nasty. I did… my _body_ did horrible things as I just… watched. It was a gruesome experience. I'll always feel… victimized by him and still guilty for what I did when I wasn't me."

"What did you do?"

Barton hesitated. "I killed a lot of people. Sometimes, at night I try to remember them all, to imagine their names and who they were, but all I have is their face as I killed them. I killed thirty-two people with my own hands. Many more… I'm responsible for their deaths indirectly. I secured materials for Loki that allowed him to bring the aliens into this dimension. Hundreds, possibly thousands died because of that. I tried to kill my partners, my friends. I tried to kill _Natasha_."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. The way he said her name made Bucky uneasy.

"Anyway… I did so, so many things that I regret, that I can't take back, that I can't be forgiven for because there's no one left to forgive me. So… I… had to forgive myself. Ask Natasha… she saved me and forgave me. She understands, but those hundreds others, those thirty-two others, they can't forgive me. I'm responsible for their deaths, and I'll carry that the rest of my life. But, what I have to remember is that it wasn't _really_ me. If I believed in a higher power, I'd say that their lives weren't sins I'd take to the pearly gates. You understand? There's no intention there. No true fault. No sin."

He said it with such conviction, such force Bucky was sure it was something he'd said many times, a mantra. Something to scare the ghosts away at night.

"It wasn't you."

"Right. And whatever you did, that wasn't you either. Think of it as being a glove on a hand, right? The glove gets dirty and looks like it was the one doing all these things, but it's just the puppet, has no volition. It's the hand inside, that doesn't get anything on it or directly touch anything, the hand that does everything because it invades the glove. We're gloves. Loki and HYDRA, they're the hands."

Bucky nodded. Barton had a way of describing things that came across so clearly. He was dead on again.

"Gloves."

"Hey, I'm sorry about your loss, man."

Bucky felt foggy, like his body was enclosed in a mist. He looked down at the unit, saw a drop fall onto its reflective surface. He was crying again.

"It works well enough. Stark has offered to get me something more realistic. I think I'll take him up on it."

"No, not that. Actually, I think the arm is cool: super strong, super quick. It would make my bow arm absolutely infallible. I mean, I never miss anyway, but still. No, I meant the time. I ache for the weeks I missed. I'm really sorry for your decades."

Bucky was still silently crying. He couldn't stop it, just like the flood of memories. The tears just streamed down his face.

"I didn't have anyone to miss, family was gone, no gal, just…just bunker mates. And Steve. As it seems, I don't have to miss him, so I may just be alright. He… he was my family and maybe he still can be."

The room fell silent, utterly silent. He could hear clocks ticking and three sets of lungs breathing. Turning around he found Natasha leaning against the door jamb of her spare room. She had a far-off look on her face, a lot like the one that had befuddled him on Rogers' face.

Then he realized what he'd said. He almost didn't make it to the bathroom in time.

"I don't like Chinese food," he grumbled as he stalked back out to his seat.

"I don't like any food the second time around, man. Maybe wait until you can keep a meal of it down before you make that decision."

Natasha stepped up, but still stayed over an arm's length away. "You found something deep just then, you can't expect to discover so big a chunk of your mind without your other half reacting. That was just the conditioning punishing you for all the Bucky you just revived."

"Absolutely. Don't let it put you off." Barton slid a glass of water towards him.

"You want to try some crackers or something? To settle your stomach?" Natasha was in her cabinets, sifting through some boxes.

"Please. Just not Ritz. I basically lived off those and tuna for two years…" He trailed off, staring wide-eyed.

"It's okay, Bucky, that's you, your memory you're tapping into it. Don't push against it."

"…After my dad lost his job." He exhaled deeply. His father. He remembered his father losing his job. He had a father.

Bucky stumbled out of his chair and backwards into the living room until he fell onto the couch. He had a father. He looked a little like his father.

"George. My dad's name was George. He worked in a factory, then went to war. He lost his job so many times I had to get one. I had a paper route and my mom had her washing, that's how we survived. Tuna and Ritz crackers 'cause they were the cheapest."

He looked to Natasha for help but she just nodded. Barton was grinning.

"Yeah, anything else?" He asked, but Bucky wasn't listening.

"My mother. She was always very tired. Her name was Winifred. She died after I finished school. Dad said he'd broken her heart too many times. That ring, that ring in my box. It was hers. Her wedding ring. When my dad shipped out, I… I took it from his bureau and put it on a necklace. In the war, I wore it with my dog tags. The day I fell, I gave it to Steve to look after. It's like I knew. I told him…"

He squeezed his eyes tight and pictured the moment, they were on a flight deck. Steve was in uniform and Bucky was fretting over the zip line idea. He reached under his uniform and pulled it out over his head.

_'Hey, Steve. I want you to take care of this for me. If you kill me today on that damn zip line, take care of my mother's ring. She'd kill me twice over if I lost it. Hell, maybe you can win that Peggy Carter with it.'_

He found himself reciting the memory to them, the same jaunt in his tone, the joke at the end delivered with the same half-chuckle.

"Apple sauce." He felt like a man possessed. It was terrifying and invigorating, suddenly having parents but they still didn't completely feel like his. This was just another person speaking from him.

"I'm still a glove."

Barton sat forward quickly, with the most urgency he'd exhibited. "No. No. This isn't the glove talking, there's no hand in there. Those are yours. No one can make you remember something that didn't happen, only take away what did. Those are yours."

Natasha slipped around the door jamb and then quickly reappeared. She had the ring in her hand.

"Here. Something physical to latch all that onto." She dropped it onto his palm and stepped away again.

It felt real. Solid and cool and familiar. He could feel an echo of it brushing against his chest, clattering against dog tags. It was real.

"Thank you."

"Dude, you did that yourself." Barton nodded quickly and tapped the counter in front of him a few times. "That was awesome."

"No, you both… you both triggered that. Thank you."

He had something. He finally felt like he had something anchoring him to this earth, among the rest of humanity. He had a past, even if just the barest beginning, there's nothing like building from the bottom up.

He wiped his face with both hands and stood up.

"I think I'd like to try Chinese food again."


	8. 8

Barton stayed there at Natasha's apartment for the rest of the evening, even when she put her other face on and went back to work. At first, Bucky thought that they would have another session, more talk therapy, but Barton was just tinkering around the kitchen, eating random stuff.

"Are… we going to continue?"

Barton looked up from a bag of something called Cheetos and shrugged. "Nah, I thought we'd just hang out. Watch some TV. You gotta learn how to be a regular person again, too, besides figuring out your noggin. TV's a good, normal person activity. Besides, you've done enough in the brain department today. We don't want you to blow a fuse and regress."

He tossed a few orange finger-looking things into his mouth and then held out the bag. "You want some?"

Bucky looked at the Chinese food on his plate, which was recognizably food, and then back at the bag which was full of more neon fingers. He opted for things that looked like food and not H-bomb accidents.

"No, thank you. I'm set with this…"

"General Tso's Chicken."

"Yes. That."

Barton shrugged again, it seemed to be his go-to response to anything. "Alright. You want to try this introduction thing again then?" He wiped his hands on his pant legs and tossed aside the bag.

"I'm Clint." He held out a calloused hand and quirked his brows when Bucky didn't respond. "Now's when you… you shake the hand. Come on, you're from the forties, not Mars."

He held out the hand further.

"Take it, good and firm but not crushing, Mr. SuperSoldier, and then you say 'I'm Bucky Barnes'" he tucked his chin to his neck and spoke in a gruffer voice. "…or 'James' or whatever you wanna be called. Come on. Don't be shy. I'll just leave this here- thank you."

Bucky took his hand firmly and shook, mostly to get him to stop talking.

"Bucky. Pleased to meet you, Clint."

"Yup. Good job. A plus. You can introduce yourself." He swiped up the bag of fingers again and then took Bucky's plate. "Come on, TV time."

"But… meal's are… eaten at a table." He seemed unsure of his assertion but fairly certain that he shouldn't be eating this on a couch. There was something wrong with that.

"It's cool. Nat doesn't mind and we've got a coffee table here. Put it right there. Boom. You're good to go." He set down Bucky's meal and then collapsed onto the couch.

Bucky stood there for a moment, seriously considering taking the plate and going back to the kitchen, but he decided that would be rude. So he sat down a safe distance away from Clint and stared at his plate which was about a foot and a half away.

"How am I supposed to eat here?"

Clint sighed in exasperation. "You just… you pick it up and you eat it. Don't tell me you didn't eat in front of the TV where you came from."

"I didn't have a television." Bucky tried carefully to hold the plate with unit and eat with his hand. He felt clumsy. "Not many people I knew had one in their home either, but I certainly didn't. We didn't have the money."

"Well, you're in for a treat then. Tonight, we're watching the World's Strongest Man from 1977. Lou Ferrigno's in it. He pulls a bus with his teeth. It's insane. Hey, can you do that?"

Bucky stopped chewing and thought about it. "I don't think so, but maybe."

"We should try that sometime."

It turned out, Bucky actually really enjoyed television. The World's Strongest Man program was fascinating and actually exciting at points. One time he found himself on his feet clapping. Clint just told him to take a seat, they couldn't hear him.

Then Clint decided to playfully shove Bucky for not laughing at something. That turned out to be a very bad idea.

"What the fuck?" Natasha's voice sounded hollow coming from the front door. "What the hell happened?"

Clint and Bucky stood up from trying to pick up the shattered pieces of the coffee table.

"Uh… we watched World's Strongest Man," Bucky offered unhelpfully.

"Yeah… and…?"

Clint cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Well, you see, Bucky, here, had never watched something like that and-"

"Don't blame this on the amnesiac, Barton."

"Right, well, we we're both over-excited, all pumped up from all the… pumping up… and we had an accident- not so much an accident as an incident. A competition of strength."

"It wasn't really a competition," Bucky added.

"No… no, it wasn't. Turns out, Bucky is plenty strong. Real supersoldier material. You know, man? I think you could pull that bus with your teeth."

"Barton."

He whipped back around to an incrementally less calm Natasha. "Right. Um… yeah, I decided to test his strength… by forgetting that he was… a bit… what's the word? Uh, sensitive? I just, you know, playfully shoved him. He reacted… like a recent war trauma survivor. Didn't even use the… the left arm. That was his right arm. Needless to say I lost."

"Not immediately."

"No, I dodged you first, and you looked confused, which is improvement… with the personality, you know? But then, then he destroyed me, unequivocally."

"And your coffee table."

"Thanks, Buck."

"No problem."

"That was sarcasm."

"I know."

Clint paused and looked around at him in surprise. "You're cheeky, you know that?"

"Not before now." Bucky paused and then thought back. "Well, maybe before now. I'm not sure."

Natasha was sucking on her lip. She looked incredibly upset but also slightly amused. "So you did what I explicitly warned you not to do? You touched him, aggressively."

Barton shrugged. "I forgot. He was acting normal."

She pulled off her Stephanie face and glared at Barton. "You deserve the busted face." She seemed to lose a bit of bluster then, "but you calmed him down? That was it?"

"Yes," they both chimed back in unison.

"Good. I'll…just…requisition a new coffee table." She cleared her throat and then stalked past them to her room.

Clint winced as he turned around to Bucky. "You couldn't play it cool, man?"

"What do you mean when you say that? Cool?"

He rolled his eyes at Bucky and bent over to continue picking up the wood and glass. "It's lingo, like… I dunno, something good, but also, you know, like… like… suave and nonchalant."

"You wanted me to lie?" Bucky was affronted.

"No. Literally just be quiet and not give us away. I could have talked us out of that without your snide little comments."

Bucky shrugged dismissively and set a big piece of glass in the trash bag. "Didn't look like it, the way things were going."

"Ugh. Everybody's a pain in the ass once they've got a bit of personality. I swear."

"Barton!" Natasha called out from the back of the apartment. "BARTON. Can I see you in here for a minute?" It sounded more like an order than a request. It made Clint grimace again.

"Sure thing." He called back and then shrugged at Bucky. "Wish me luck, oh and don't break anything else while I'm gone."

Bucky frowned after him. He didn't like this, the two of them talking without him. Or maybe it was the two of them being alone. He couldn't rightly tell. He tried not to dwell on it as he finished picking up the debris. By the time Clint and Natasha reemerged he'd tidied the whole thing up. There was just the massive crater in the floor left.

"It's nice. Cleaning up after myself. Looks like I can do something besides destroy things." He finished with a sigh and then glanced up at them to find them both looking at him with what had to be pity.

"Hey, man, it's my fault. I should have known better. You are super strong after all."

Natasha rolled her eyes and stepped up to him, closer than she'd been since the reveal. "Barnes, you can do all kinds of things besides break and kill. Trust me. We all find that out eventually. Turns out, I'm a fair paramedic. And it's time to finally look at those wounds of yours. Really."

She held up the first aid kit from earlier that day and nodded towards the couch.

"Barton's going to… well, he's going to keep a taser trained on you while I do this. Sorry, but… anything could be a trigger for you and I don't want to… you know."

"She means end up like her coffee table."

Natasha glared at Clint and then checked back on Bucky. It hadn't really bothered him. He was scared of himself, why shouldn't she be?

"That's cool."

Natasha frowned briefly, but Clint was beaming.

"Good job, Buck. That _is_ cool."

"Oh, good, we're teaching him slang. Good use of our time." Natasha rolled her eyes and pursed her lips as she sat down on the couch then patted the cushion beside her.

Bucky sat carefully. They both just stared at him.

"Kind of need the shirt off, Barnes."

"Oh." He pulled the shirt off and sat back. "Sorry."

"S'okay," she muttered around a syringe. "I'm just going to take a blood sample first, find out what they did to your biology. Then I'll stitch up what needs stitching up.

It was a good thing Barton was there with the weapon. Turns out, medical supplies were a big trigger. As he watched her stick the needle in his arm, Bucky felt a fine sheen of sweat bead across his whole body.

"Uh… Nat…"

"Yeah, I see it."

"Bucky. Bucky, man. Look at me. You're cool, you're safe. You're-" Clint kept talking, or at least his mouth kept moving but Bucky couldn't hear him.

The only sound reaching his ears was a hollow ringing. His chest heaved like his lungs were fighting, like all the air had gone out of the room. Then the flashes started.

He could see them, in his mind, the HYDRA scientists with all their shiny tools, sharp and painful. They adjusted the unit, they pried and poked at his flesh, they electrocuted him. They destroyed him.

But at the same time, he could see Natasha. She was speaking quickly, eyes locked with his. Clint was there, too, with the weapon aimed but not firing. Suddenly, his ears snapped back with a pop.

"I don't know, Nat, he's not doing anything. Should I?"

"Not yet, just wait. I think he's fighting through it. I don't want him to co-associate electric shock with us and HYDRA, if it isn't necessary."

"Oh, I'm totally with you there. Poor guy doesn't need his eggs cooked any more than they already are."

"So we wait." Natasha set down the syringe and crept backwards. "Bucky? Hey, Bucky. Barnes. Are you here with us? I see your eyes following me. This is Natasha and Clint. Come back."

Bucky could feel his body again, there on that couch, not strapped to a leather chair. He wasn't cold or fighting back. Just sitting. Just sitting and breathing. He could change that, or he could just focus on breathing. He chose the latter. Deep breath in, slow breath out. And in and out again. Slow and steady until his head cleared. His blood stopped pulsing hard and fast through his temples. He couldn't hear it anymore, which helped him stay calm. His chest loosened and his jaw unclenched. He was coming out of it.

"Barnes? Bucky?"

He focused on her, met her eye and nodded, not yet daring to stop counting his breaths and speak.

"Good job, Bucky. You worked your way out of that on your own."

"Impressive, really man. Nat here had to knock me on the block a couple of times before I could fight my way out."

Bucky sat forward and let his pounding head drop into his hands. "Well, you were possessed by a Norse deity. A little different."

He drew another deep, even breath and let it permeate him. Each clean inhale made him feel freer. Finally, he even stopped sweating.

"What was the trigger?" Natasha asked as soon as he looked back up at them. "Was it the syringe?"

Bucky nodded. "The experiments. I'll never forget all those."

"Right, well, maybe you should face away from me, so you don't have to see the tools. Barton stand over there. You two talk together." She pointed to Bucky's left and moved around so that she was basically seated behind him.

"Alright, let's chat, Buck. Tell me. What's your favorite color?"

"Blue," he responded immediately.

"Just going to secure a tourniquet on your upper arm. I'm going to have to touch you. Is that okay?"

It was strange being asked to be touched but Bucky appreciated it, finally having some say over his own body. He nodded and Natasha's fingers lightly flitted over his bicep and then disappeared, leaving a building pressure, the tourniquet.

"Alright, what about… foods. What's your favorite food?"

"I had oysters once, at a picnic on the beach up north. That was the best meal I've ever had." He'd played bocce ball afterwards and had his first drink. Steve had gotten sick, but it was a good memory anyway.

"Really? Oysters have always skeeved me out. Like giant boogers." Clint shivered and shook his head. "Anyway…"

"Slight pressure," Natasha warned behind him, and sure enough, the prick from her inserting the needle.

"And… your go to drink?"

"Whiskey."

"Pretty standard."

"Pretty cheap when we were stationed in London."

"Ah." Clint turned around and, grabbing a chair from the kitchen, straddled it backwards. "Blondes, brunettes, or redheads?"

"Anyone who'll have me," he answered, very aware that Natasha was behind him listening. It was still true, though.

"Guys or girls?

"Girls. …Is guys really… a choice?"

"Yep! You live in a world now of unstigmatized sexuality! You can like whatever you want and you'll only be judged by your peers, occasionally punished but not castrated and left to bleed to death."

"Uh… I don't think we did that back in my day…"

"That you heard of…"

"Okay, all done with the needle. You can face forward again."

Possibly without thinking, also possibly to test him, Natasha laid her hand on his right shoulder and gently pushed him back into a reclining position. It didn't really bother him. Actually feeling the touch of another human was bracing. He possibly liked it.

"I'm just going to unwrap your bandaging and check out what's going on here."

She dropped onto the floor beside his feet and leaned over his legs to reach his abdomen. This meant her body was very exposed, neck, spine, liver all open targets. It also meant he could feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed against his thigh. The whole situation made him feel warm, not the cold sweat and then molten rage of an episode, something familiar in an older way. He was very grateful when Clint piped back up again with another question.

"Favorite kind of music?"

"I remember liking dancing. And the music… big band tunes? Yes, I think big band music, with the horns and the drums."

"Alright, I hate to break it to you, Bucky, but you're not going to find people dancing to that anymore."

"That's not… completely true, Barton," Natasha said, half-distracted as she uncovered the first wrapping. "Swing dancing's still a thing that happens. You mean something like that, Barnes?"

"In a way." He was having a hard time focusing. Her breath tickled.

"Well, there you go. No bubbles burst. You okay, Nat?"

Bucky looked down at Natasha who was wearing a perplexed look.

"What? Oh, yeah. It's just these were soaked with blood, but the wound's already practically a scar… super healing, I suppose. Didn't you have another, Barnes?"

"My arm was broken by Rogers but it was healed by the next day after I set it. Pieces of the helicarrier cut open my leg, but I bound that and it doesn't bother me. This was from a broken rib piercing the skin. It seems fine."

Natasha paled slightly but just nodded her head. "Okay. I figure you're healed, but to be safe, I'm going to need to see that leg."

Bucky stood and had begun to remove his pants when Clint shouted.

"No underwear! No underwear! Jesus."

"Well, get him a towel or something, Barton! I didn't just have men's underwear hanging around here."

"But you had men's jeans and a t-shirt?" Clint shouted back from around the corner, in her bathroom.

"They're… Rogers' this wasn't just my safe house to start with." She cleared her throat and reached for the towel. "Here, Barnes. For Barton's delicate constitution."

"I just think some things should be kept a secret. Forever." He crossed his arms as Bucky covered himself and Natasha unwrapped his thigh. "I mean, you're old. Wasn't modesty a thing?"

Bucky nodded, "yes... I guess so. I forgot." He was suddenly blushing, glad for the towel. He was very naked.

"Humph."

"Wow. I mean, this is incredible. Just a light scar. Yep. You're fine, Barnes. You can put your pants back on." She patted his knee and stood back up. The touch made his stomach quake.

Clint noticed something. He narrowed his eyes at Bucky who determinedly avoided looking back at him. Modesty? Yep, he still had that, and apparently a sense of shame about some things. When he finally spoke again, Clint seemed torn.

"Hey, Nat, I'm scheduled elsewhere in thirty, but if you need me to stick around-"

Natasha shook her head as he spoke. "No, we're okay here, I think. You go ahead." She finished packing up the med kit and nodded at him. "No worries."

Clint flashed a warning look over at Bucky and, once he caught his eye, just shook his head. Bucky understood the gesture, not really its motivation. He waited until Clint had left to inquire after it.

"Why was Clint uncomfortable leaving us here?"

"Probably still worried you'd have an episode and I'd be stuck fending you off on my own. Despite kicking his ass repeatedly, Barton still worries about me being a frail woman at times."

Bucky pulled on his jeans and shirt and then sat back down. "It didn't seem like that was all."

Natasha kept reading the files she was rifling through. "Oh? What else do you think?"

"I-I'm not sure. He just had this look, like he was warning me."

She glanced up sharply. "A warning or a threat?"

"Either."

"Damn it , Barton, can't keep your nose out of other people's business." She threw down the file on the table and marched over to the living room, proceeding to pour over every inch of the furniture, floor and walls until she found a small device by the doorjamb.

She crushed it between her thumb and forefinger in a burst of emotion Bucky hadn't seen from her. Then, she retrieved her telephone, the portable one she kept on her, and began dialing.

"Bug my safe house. What was he thinking? As if it's his business. Really, Barton? A bug?" She marched into her room and shut the door, leaving Bucky to puzzle over what all that meant.


	9. 9

"Okay, Barnes." Natasha emerged about fifteen minutes later completely composed and carrying a pair of scissors. "You've done well today, but a big part of constructing a person's identity has to do with appearance, and sorry, but you're just not up to snuff."

She stopped in the kitchen and pointed to a bar stool.

"We're cutting that hair and you're shaving. Bucky Barnes has an All-American haircut and is clean-shaven. See?"

Bucky peered at the photograph she'd laid down. It was his enlistment photo. He looked so innocent.

"No." He pushed away from the counter and trudged back to the couch where he stubbornly sat, arms crossed.

"No?"

"No. That Bucky is… I'm not him anymore. This…" he blew a strand from his face, "this suits me better now."

"No."

He looked at her, surprised by the sternness in her voice. "I'm sorry?"

"You said 'no', now I'm saying 'no.' You can't hide behind your sad homeless person look. I'm not enabling that. No. You're shaving and getting your hair cut."

"Uh…" he gazed open-mouthed at her. He was honestly torn between just folding and fighting her on it. He couldn't say which of those was him or HYDRA, if either was mutually exclusive.

"That's right. I'm calling off the coddling, no more hair safety blanket. Come here."

Bucky was standing before he could stop himself. "Y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered out and sat down in the chair.

"Thank you."

He sat in the chair, stunned and waiting for her to attack his hair, but all she did was look at the photo and then back at him a couple dozen times.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" She said without looking away from her task.

"Usually I'm a bit more tactful with women."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Tactful, eh? Sounds exciting."

"Th-that's not what I meant." It was actually. Somewhere inside him he was groaning at how poorly this was going, like Peggy Carter all over again. He was becoming a dolt. "I meant… well, I meant polite."

"This is polite enough for me, Barnes. Most men, and women, I'm around are trying to shoot me."

He winced, "like me last week."

"Precisely. You're getting smoother by the minute by that standard."

"And Clint?"

"What about him?"

"Was he… staking a…claim?"

Natasha snorted and put down the photo. "Don't worry about Clint, he's harmless."

"No, I meant-okay."

Her fiercely blue eyes zeroed in on him. "I know what you meant, Bucky. Don't worry about Barton."

He could feel his face set on fire. Never had he been more glad that she wasn't paying attention to him. She was currently back to sharpening the scissors.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I can get this back to army standards. Just hold still and be patient."

Bucky did as instructed, holding so still he was practically not breathing. Natasha circled him a few more times and then started touching his hair, holding it in her fingers, running them through it, tousling it. If he hadn't been so focused on being so perfectly still he would have jumped. The sensation was dizzying, but not like his flashbacks. This was a heady kind of dizzy, like being fuzzy on a few glasses of whiskey. He didn't want her to stop.

"So, you're really starting to remember it seems," Natasha interrupted his reverie casually. "Have you started to piece things together, form a timeline?"

"Somewhat. I'm still uncertain about the genuineness of some of it, what hasn't been corroborated, but yes."

She stayed quiet for a few beats, taking a huge chunk out of the back of his hair. "Makes sense. The non-linear things, though, your personality seems to be flooding back."

It was. If drowning could be described simultaneously in a positive and negative light, Bucky would have compared this to it. He was inundated with preferences and impulses but he had no control still, like he was losing himself again, but to his old, lost self. It was all very disorienting. He considered that as Natasha continued hacking away at his 'safety blanket'. Eventually he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of another human touching him again.

"Are you alright?'

He blinked his eyes open. He hadn't been asleep necessarily, but he hadn't been fully conscious. Natasha looked bemused.

"Yes."

"Oh, okay. You just… it sounded like I'd hurt you."

"No. Not at all. It's nice, actually. Pleasant."

"Oh." She cleared her throat and went back to cutting, this time though, Bucky could swear her fingertips were more present.

"Sometimes you forget how important human contact is for emotional health. I certainly did." She said several cuts later.

The statement hung in the air as she moved around to snip at the hair on his forehead. Her hand grazed his brow, then his ear and finally settled on his neck, moving his head for her to cut presumably, but the feeling was infinitely more weighted than that to him.

"When… was the last time you were with a women, Bucky?" She asked without looking him in the eye. Scissors still snipping, it seemed she was just making casual, if a little personal, conversation.

"1942. Cindy Rose, she had a Buick. We drove to the point…" he trailed off, that night coming back to him even as he described it. But really, she was just a girl and he was barely a man, a kid still.

Natasha smiled, really smiled for the first time. A grin full of mischief. "Cindy Rose, huh? Sounds fun."

Bucky stared straight ahead and licked his lips. He had an idea of what to do in this situation, one of those unrequested memories. Smooth talk, a dance… or maybe that wasn't the protocol anymore. He was starting to panic. He had no training for this, didn't even know if he wanted it. No. That wasn't true. He'd wanted this for the greater part of the evening, maybe before without realizing.

"It's okay, Bucky. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Her hand was by his ear again, she was trimming there.

"I'm not uncomfortable. I'm panicking."

She chuckled softly and moved to his other ear. "Understandable, you've been on ice for almost a century. You're bound to feel a little rusty."

"That's true. Unfortunately, I am having a hard time distinguishing genuine and ingenuine right now. Are you acting again? Under cover?"

"No," she replied simply and bent down behind him to even out the nape of his neck. "Just trying to help you find yourself as efficiently as possible. Like I said, the physical side of things is tied to emotional healing, or it is in my experience."

Her breath was warm on his neck, then suddenly cool as she blew the little strands of hair away. It felt like his whole body had been fired up with a switch. As she stepped around she drew her hand over his shoulders, sweeping off hair as she went.

"Looks much better. You want to see?"

He nodded and followed her to her bathroom. She ruffled the remainder of his hair, standing on her tiptoes, as he looked in the mirror. He did seem more recognizable now. But that wasn't where his focus went. It was on her nails against his scalp, the sliver of skin that peeked out from under her shirt when she reached up, the pout of her lips and the smell of her surrounding him in this room.

"You're staring, Bucky," she observed, the smirk in her lips without disapproval. "What about your hair?"

"Sorry." He forced his eyes back to his own reflection. "You did a fine job."

"And do you feel more like yourself?"

He considered that for a beat. "Yes."

"The physical side's important, like I said. Step one, boyish quiff, complete. Step two, smooth-talking ladies' man…" She stepped towards him, closing the habitual safety zone of no man's land. Her hand rested on his waistline as she looked straight up at him.

"You feel like rediscovering that part of your identity? 'Cause I can help with that, too."

He was tongue-tied. Internally he was screaming at himself, cursing his ineptitude, threatening, and already lamenting the wasted opportunity. But all that, it seemed was premature. Natasha was not taking his silence as a 'no.'

"Here, let's take it for a test run, shall we? Then you can make a decision." She gently, but firmly, set her hand on the back of his neck and, poised on the tip of her toes again, pulled his face down the rest of the way to her own.

Then, his muscle memory took care of the rest. Hands on her waist, he sunk into her kiss, letting all the pent up impulses and memories that came with it wash over him. Her lips were as soft as they were full but they were also controlled and precise. She knew what she was doing with them, and her tongue. That was something he'd forgotten about. By the time they parted, he was out of breath, weak in the knees, and acutely aware of parts of his body he'd hardly paid any mind since that night in 1942.

"So, what do you say? You want to buy the car?" She pushed her hair back out of her face and licked her lips, her now even redder lips.

_If you're willing to sell, I'd be fool to say no._ This smooth, half-purring voice in the back of his head said. But all he really managed to force from his lips sounded something like, "Urhhh-hmmm."

"We'll work on the smooth-talking part later." She hooked a finger through one of his belt loops and pulled him behind her into her room.

As Natasha undressed him, uncertainty began to creep back over him. This whole situation was incredibly compromising. He was exposed. She was exposed to him. He could be set off at any moment. She could be hurt. He could be hurt, if this was all a ploy. He stopped cooperating as she reached his pants.

"Second guessing?" She correctly assumed.

"This is a mistake. The situation is too compromising, for us both."

"I trust you enough. I believe you're in control enough. Do you not? Do you not trust me?"

"No," he answered both questions at once.

"I understand. You're not ready. Totally your call." She released him and dropped back onto her bed. "I must say, though, I'm a little disappointed. You look really fine with your fresh haircut."

But it wasn't only the safety concern. He felt compelled to tell her that.

"Well, this is just not how we did things, in my day. You take a lady out, you show her a good time. Dinner, a picture, some dancing. You court her, show her some respect. Then… when things are steady… this happens."

Natasha leaned back on her bed, balanced on her elbows, and just grinned at him. "Bucky Barnes, you're a gentleman."

He felt the blush rise on his cheeks again. "Yes, ma'am. Or I try to be."

"Alright then," she hopped up and lightly kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mr. Barnes."

He nodded quickly and marched for the doorway. "Goodnight, Ms. Romanoff."

She was chuckling as he shut the door to the spare room. He had amused her. Probably found him quaint. Oh well. Better safe than sorry, better respectful than opportunistic. Unfortunately, all those quippy little phrases didn't resolve the issue that situation had created and left unaddressed. He decided to shower, which was a good choice. The water felt amazing and it was invigorating to feel his hair, Bucky's hair again. It set off habitual patterns. Wash then rinse, shave-he didn't have a straight razor but Natasha had left a flimsy looking hand razor which worked-then bathe. Actually taking care of himself, carefully grooming instead of just rinsing was rewarding in itself. He remembered what it was like to feel clean. Beyond that, he remembered another way to take care of himself.

It must have been something that was a bit of habit, the way he instinctively started up. And once he did, he remembered just how rewarding _it_ was. Better than food and bathing. He cried out when it was all over, covering his mouth a second too late. He'd been thinking about that kiss, he'd forgotten she was just a wall away.

"Barnes, are you alright?" She called outside the door.

"Yes. Sorry. Dropped the razor." _Well, that was unsettlingly easy and convincing._

"Okay, they're not as dangerous as a straight razor."

"Yes, it was unnecessary."

"Right. Goodnight."

He heard the door shut and then exhaled. Sure, she'd been willing to sleep with him but he was embarrassed about letting her find out that he could do that all on his own. Ridiculous.

Drying off and getting dressed again left him fairly exhausted and he laid down to sleep several minutes later, drifting off without even realizing it.

* * *

**A/N: What can I say? I have a hair cutting thing, sorry.**


	10. 10

_'God damn it, Barnes! What in the hell?!'_

_They'd escaped the charge, found the trenches, Dugan and Jones. They'd even been holding off the attack. But then the eerie blue shots started taking out the others._

_'What the hell was that?' They'd all wondered it, someone had just said it out loud. They stood, exposed from the trenches to investigate. What the hell _was_ that? It just kept firing, lighting up the Krauts and disintegrating them._

_'That looks… new.' Dugan had a way with words. But he was right. The ground shook, something was coming, something new. A massive tank rolled over the hill._

_It paused on top, still directed at the dust that had been the enemy. Then, as he'd watched, its barrel had shifted, pointed directly at them._

_'Down!' He shouted, they fell face first back into the trench, Dugan, he, and Jones. But it was too late from some. He watched members of his unit light up, then float away. He was going to be sick._

_This was it. He was going to die, turned to dust, the last thing he saw, mud and pain. He was never going to tell Steve about that girl, the one in the pub with the strawberry blonde hair and green eyes. Boy, Steve would have liked that story. He would never see Steve again. Poor, little, Steve. Stupid kid in the alley never backing down. He'd get killed and it would be his fault, not being there to save him._

_Damnit._

_But then the firing stopped._

_They all huddled on the ground as the boots over the trench sloshed. German bastards. They were barking something but Bucky couldn't understand it. He knew one word of German, it was 'halt,' stop. They weren't saying that._

_They came over trench, a few at a time, carrying enormous guns, glowing blue. More death rays. But they weren't firing. They were shouting, kicking men. They kicked him in the gut, and again until he stood. Then they put a bag over his head. They were taking them prisoner. Nazis only did one thing with prisoners. Experiments._

_He didn't remember being put on a table. The last thing he saw was the black of the inside of a bag and a few stars, the echoing crack of a rifle butt ringing through his skull. Now he could see. Mildewy tiled walls, metal and straps. Some unsettling instruments._

_'Now, who are we?' It was a little man with a face like a fish and big bug eyes. 'American soldier, good. Strapping, tall. He is an acceptable specimen. Begin the procedure.'_

_The first injection stung. The eight more that followed burned like nothing he'd never felt before. They pried and poked him. Flashed lights in his eyes, made his ears ring with strange machines. They took blood, put it back. Cut his skin, struck his joints, left him alone for hours, maybe days. Eventually, starved and parched, he lost track of night and day. He forgot where he was or how he got there. He was going to die._

_'James Barnes. Member of the 107th…'_

_'Bucky?'_

_'Bucky?!'_

_'Who the hell is Bucky?'_

_'Your mission is a threat to the order we've developed here. Make it look like an accident.' _

_That face. That face was familiar._

_'Do I know him?' _

_He did. He knew he did. Something distant. Deeper, where it hurt._

_'No. He's been in the papers. He's famous and a threat. Your mission. He'll be at these coordinates in two hours. An accident. It needs to look like an accident.'_

_An accident. The car. Just kick it off the road. Make sure it's in flames. An accident._

_'But I know him.'_

_'Wipe 'em again.'_

_Pain. White hot pain burning away his mind. Then, just nothingness. The mission. Stark. An accident._

_'You've had an accident. We must amputate the rest of the arm.'_

_Pain. Screaming. Cold, then nothing._

_'Son, there's been an accident. I'm sorry but your mother passed away yesterday. Seems I finally broke her heart…' _

_That ring. His mother's ring. Heart-wrenching sobs wracked his frame. A sharp pain in his knees then a dull throb. They'd be bruised. His throat, his eyes, his face all hurt from crying, were all swollen. He could barely see the ring in his palm._

_'Something physical to latch all that onto.'_

_Red, white, and blue. She was beautiful, awe-inspiring but distant. Like the stars._

_'Leave her to me.' _

_He could speak Russian. She shot him in the eye. He shot her in the chest. Eye for a lung. Fair._

_Red, white, and blue._

_'You're my friend!'_

_'YOU'RE MY MISSION!'_

He was gasping for air.

"NOT ANYMORE."

Where was he? Who was he? Whose voice was that?

"BARNES! HYDRA is exposed. You're free. You're Bucky."

He couldn't breathe. Something stung across his face. He wrenched open his eyes. Red. White. Blue.

"Barnes. Come out of it." It was a slap. She'd slapped him, and again.

"I'm putting him down, Nat."

"No. He's here. Look. Pupils normal and responsive. Barnes. Come back."

"You slapped me."

"She did more than that. Nice haircut, by the way." Barton was there. Clint. He hovered to his left. No he was being lifted by the unit, he was trying to hold the unit down.

"Why can't I breathe?"

"Because I have you in a choke hold, or what's supposed to be one." The pressure loosened around his neck and Natasha appeared right side up.

"She would have crushed any other man's windpipe with that hold. You, she could hardly close the hold at her knees."

"Super strength. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt." He tried to rub his neck but his arm was stuck.

"Oh, here, magnetic cuff. There." She freed his hand and slipped away from him. So did Clint, releasing the unit and backing away. "Where are you?"

He sat up slowly and gingerly felt at his neck. "Your safe house. I think. I'm not sure why Barton's here."

"Yeah, came back a couple of hours ago. I was afraid the dreams might get you like they did me." He shrugged down at him. "Standard brainwashing side effect."

"What happened?"

Natasha was wearing very little clothing. He hadn't noticed that before. She pulled down on her shorts and then crossed her arms. Her hair was a mess. She'd been sleeping. Clint looked like he had, too. Underpants, no shirt, hair like he'd hung his head out the window of a speeding car. Were they together?

He felt a pang of something unpleasant and pushed the thought from his mind. Natasha was speaking.

"…as mumbling. I ignored it, figured you were talking in your sleep. Then you started screaming, flailing around, too, by the sound of it. So, I came in to check. That's when you lunged."

"Mm-hmm," Clint picked up. "I saw you coming from the living room, but by the time I got to you, she'd already brought you down and was holding you. I cuffed your arms, this beast broke through its," he motioned to the unit, "so, I jumped on it. That mostly worked, though I think you broke one of my ribs."

Bucky winced. That was all very bad. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry."

"Yeah, happens to the best of us."

He didn't feel like he shouldn't worry. He felt incredibly guilty, and like he didn't belong there. He was a threat. Threats belonged in cages. Or dead.

"You should lock me down."

"What?"

"I can't be trusted. This proves it. I should be restrained or I shouldn't be here."

"No, we handled it. Everything's fine." Natasha shook her head hard. Clint mirrored.

"It isn't. I don't want to be responsible for any more… bad in this world. That… what just happened was bad. And unnecessary. Restrain me, or I'm leaving."

"But-"

"I'm used to sleeping in a glass tube. I can handle some cuffs."

The two of them exchanged a guarded look and Clint turned away with a huff. Natasha nodded, kneeling in front of him, but few feet out of reach.

"We can cuff your human arm. The cybernetic we'll have to disable with an EMP."

"That's fine."

"It's going to hurt. And you might hurt yourself in your sleep."

"It's all fine."

Natasha sighed and took the magnetic cuff from Clint. "Okay, you'll have to sleep with your hand above your head."

He grunted with a nod and laid down on his back on the bed. The cuff was uncomfortable. She was right.

"Okay, I'm firing up the EMP."

It was a little black disk. He'd seen one before.

"You won't be able to feel your arm. It might even hurt constantly."

"The unit. It's fine."

Natasha pressed her lips tight, into a hard line and then set the disk on the unit's elbow. She was right. It did hurt.

"Thank you," he said, adding, "I'll go back to sleep now," when they didn't leave.

Natasha gave him a pained look and then marched smartly from the room. Clint lingered for a moment. He seemed to be going through some turmoil, maybe a mental argument.

"I'll be back in a few hours to release you."

Bucky nodded, but didn't respond. He didn't need Clint to hear the pain and self-loathing he felt in his voice. He didn't go back to sleep either. He couldn't. Instead he tried to piece together as many of his memories as he could. By the time Clint came back in to release him, he was pretty sure he'd met Natasha several times before. He discovered that he couldn't find a lick of sense supporting anything but that Steve Rogers had been exactly who he'd said. His friend.

"When can I see Steve?" He queried immediately.

Clint paused on the threshold and chewed on his lip. "Yeah… I don't know. Not my department. Natasha's the one who knows triggers and she said not for a while. Something about your past being dangerous."

He shrugged and sauntered on over to Bucky's right side to release the mag-cuff.

"But she's part of my past."

"What?" Clint seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh, you mean the whole shooting her thing. No, that's fine." He moved around to shut down the EMP.

Bucky persisted. "That wasn't the first time I'd shot her. I shot through her to kill a target and… something in Russian, I can't quite reach it. I knew her before. She was younger, much younger."

"At the KGB?" Clint dropped onto his knee to be eye to eye with him. "Is that it?"

Bucky thought about it. "Maybe. It's still very unfocused. I think I shot her then, too."

He looked back to Clint, and found his jaw set. He seemed out-of-character-upset. "Or you trained her. Oh, I bet you're him. Explains her soft spot." He stood up quickly and marched out, pausing again at the threshold. "Stay here. Please."

The conversation that followed was loud enough for Bucky to hear snatches of from the next room.

"-you tell me he was the American with the shitty Russian?!"

Natasha's response was calmer, Bucky couldn't make it out.

"I mean that he was there, he's the one you talked about meeting in your red days!"

Another period of silence must have been filled with her reply.

"It's not an assumption! He said he met you when you were younger! This is personal for you! You're compromised."

"It's none of your business."

"So you admit it?!"

At this point, Bucky had his ear against the wall.

"No. It's not your business either way."

"Oh my god, Natasha, just admit that he's him, he's the one you've been obsessing over finding."

"Fine. I didn't know it until I found the barcode behind his ear, but, yes, he's the American with the shitty Russian. He taught me how to handle a gun and then one day they took him away. End of story." She didn't shout but her even tone wasn't any less menacing.

"Why'd they take him away?" Clint asked more quietly.

"Something about assets not getting too attached. He took care of me one morning, something out of the way-"

"What?"

"Chocolate. He brought me chocolate." She paused, must have earned a look of confusion from Clint because she continued, "I was twelve years old and I hadn't ever had chocolate. So they took him away."

His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. He hadn't shot at her, he'd taught her how to shoot. He was going to be sick again.

Natasha came in as he was huddled over the toilet.

"Heard all that did you?"

"Yes," he croaked into the bowl.

"Sorry. You shouldn't have. The past's supposed to stay the past for now, not try to feel you up in a bathroom." She sighed as he retched again. "If it makes you feel any better, they had you train me in one of the periods when you'd been unfrozen for a while. You were very sweet. So much so, you almost had your personality back. That's why they took you away. That's why I thought I could help you, if you were him, because I'd been there when it almost happened before."

"You were just a child. I taught a child to kill." He was dry heaving by this point.

"No, you taught me to shoot a long range sniper rifle, among other guns. I already knew how to kill."

"A child," he murmured again, this time distressed over the 'feeling up in a bathroom' implications.

"Not anymore. Circumstances have changed."

He gagged again, this time shaking his head in disgust with himself. This earned a heavy sigh from Natasha.

She reached over and, grabbing a towel, tossed it to him.

"Okay, I'm not good at opening up, but listen. I was a kid who obsessed over a lost mentor and wanted to find a way to pay him back for an act of kindness, just one little nice glimmer among a sea of red. And I found a way, it just so happened that that way triggered some other, new responses. I grew up, you didn't. You're the same essentially, at the same time in your life. But me? The way I experience things and, in this case, my reaction to you has changed. I just figured, 'if I can help, why not get something I'd like in return?'"

She paused for a long minute. When she spoke again her voice was huskier, more vulnerable. "To be honest, I've probably been pretty smitten with you since that day. It's hard not to be when it's a nice guy, looking like you, bringing a girl chocolate."

Natasha cleared her throat and added quietly, "you made an impression."

"I understand you. I do." Bucky sat back and wiped his face, wishing she wasn't looking at him so hard. "But-but now I only see her. The little girl who never smiled with the bruises she wouldn't explain."

Sure enough, there she was before his eyes, pouting frown and shins black and blue. He looked away quickly and shook his head, but the image was stuck. What was more, he wasn't sure which was true, her pursuit of mission, the desire to pay back a favor, or her romantic inclinations. Maybe all? Maybe none. She was a good actress.

"I understand," her tone was tight, words clipped. "I'll have Barton take you to his place. Maybe I'll be able to thank you some other way, another time. Goodbye, Barnes."

She walked away and he watched her leave, a memory hitting him square in the gut, right on cue.

_How can a kid grow up and never once have chocolate? _

_He tossed the small bar, wrapped in wax paper, in the air and caught it with his bionic hand. Such a little thing, something so easy. He'd nicked this one from a little shop a mile or so off base. They'd never notice, but Little Firecracker, she'd like it. A kid should have chocolate once in a while._

_She was polishing her pistol, so small, so defiant. Never once had she given up in the range, not once. She reminded him of someone… he couldn't put his finger on it._

_Here, he said in his halting Russian, for you. A kid should have chocolate._

_She studied it carefully, blue eyes pouring over it with intelligence and caution beyond her years. Finally, she held it back out to him, determination setting her face._

_What do I have to do for it, she asked in beautiful lilting words that made him feel pain where he normally couldn't._

_Nothing. You just eat it. It's a gift._

_She looked up at him wearing something nearly identifiable as a smile. Thank you, she whispered._

_No problem, kid- he was cut off by the entrance of two officer-ranked comrades._

_Operativnoye odin, ostanovka, vmestes nami. They had the cryo keys. He was going back to sleep._

_Do svidaniya, nemnogo feyyerverk, he said one last time to her, standing on the threshold as her handler led her away. _

_At least she pocketed that chocolate in time._

Bucky came out of this memory shaking but lucid. It was pretty complete, as his flashbacks came. Sight, sound and feelings, the full sensory event. But it hadn't uprooted him, maybe because it wasn't Bucky's memory, it was Operative One's with a hint of Bucky peeking through.

"Natasha?" He leaned heavily on the jamb of the spare room, hoping his stomach would stop churning and the room spinning. "I have a request."

* * *

**A/N: okay, as I'm sure you've noticed I don't actually know Russian so... yeah, bear with me there and apologies if I've mangled anyone's mother tongue.**


	11. 11

"You wanna go to Stark's?!" Barton's voice was strained. He seemed offended.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Bucky, my feelings are a little hurt. Stark's?! That guy's a pretentious asshat, and a bully. Thinks he so fucking great because he can build overhyped suits of armor. This isn't the Middle Ages, we're not jousting are we?"

He'd lost Bucky at 'asshat,' but Natasha seemed to be following, clearly amused.

"Barton, your weapon of choice is a bow and arrow. You want to talk about outdated, that's literally prehistoric."

"What?! No! It's timeless, that's what it is. You can't improve upon perfection, just add attachments."

"Asshat?" Bucky threw into the mix.

"Yeah, you know? Got his head up his ass so much he's wearing it like a hat. The visual's pretty explicit."

Bucky grimaced at the explanation. It was crude and distasteful, not that 'asshole' was any better. "So, you don't like Stark."

"No, no, I like him fine. You know, like how you like the postal service. Right? You know it's necessary, and you appreciate the work it does, but goddamn you'd think by now it'd realize all the problems it has and stop acting like it's the best fucking thing since sliced bread."

Natasha was full-on grinning at this point.

"I don't like him as much as last generation, as his father, Howard, I'll give you that, but he's offering me something I want." Bucky flexed the units digits and looked back up at them. "I'll-if he was serious about the offer-I will stay with him until the arm's finished…and then, maybe, I can come back here once the shock of…everything has blown over."

"Makes sense," Natasha said, not caring that Clint was glaring at her. "You are recovering more every day. No doubt a few more days and one less thing reminding you of the past-the regrettable past-will help you cope better."

"And then I can pick back up with Barton."

"Hey, man, there's not much I can do for you you haven't already done for yourself. I'm obsolete at this point."

"No. Barton, modest as he is, knows more about the world than just how to recover from brainwashing. He can help you reintegrate, probably better than I can, seeing as I'm in deeper cover than he is. Plus, you guys have a good rapport, and he needs the friend."

"I'd act offended but it's true and I'm past caring." Clint shrugged, "I'm also a member of a firing range nearby, so when you're finally action-ready again, we can train together. I can't match you strength-wise but I know that I can hold my own in shooting. I don't miss."

"I'd appreciate it." Bucky nodded his gratefulness towards Clint. The latter shrugged as usual.

"You got it."

"Good. If that's an acceptable plan to everyone, I'll go ahead and contact Stark."

Bucky still couldn't meet Natasha's eye, but he did look up enough to nod his affirmation.

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Both Clint and Bucky watched Natasha walk away.

"You know, I'm impressed."

Bucky looked over at him, a question obviously on his face.

"Most guys, with more cause than yours to not sleep with her, still would have."

"I met her first when she was twelve. That's enough cause for anyone, or it should be."

"Yeah, but… she's pretty clearly not twelve anymore."

"It's hard to see that for me now. She… just kind of looks twelve, mostly."

Bucky ran his hand through his much shorter hair. It seemed a natural gesture, felt natural, too. He really did feel more like someone real, like himself, with his hair cut.

"For your sake, man, I hope that wears off. Me? I don't miss. Nat? She doesn't _not_ get what she wants. She just doesn't give up."

"Yeah, I've seen that before. They always find a way. Sometimes, that way's worse than not getting it." He remembered who she'd reminded him of all those years ago, of course he couldn't have realized it then, his memory wiped as it was. It was Steve. The kid too stupid to back down from anything. And he got what he wanted. Seeing him get it had crushed Bucky. Natasha seemed like she might not be all that different.

"Let's hope something gets resolved in the meantime."

"Yeah. Actually, I bet Stark can help you with that, too. He used to practically be a revolving door with women. He's bound to have coping techniques for backfires. That and he can hook you up with some of those moves. I don't need 'em so I couldn't teach them to you, but Stark's smoother than silk. He could sell an atheist a Bible, if he tried."

Bucky stared at his hands for a moment, then covered the unit's with his own. "It's that kind of thing that I want to avoid. Stark acts like he's reformed. I want to see how that happens."

"Wait. So, you want to _not_ try things with Nat?"

"Not necessarily." Bucky didn't know how to explain himself, there were too many thoughts swirling around this subject.

He just wanted to do things, act without wondering if it was him or another person. Stark was clearly a man who put on airs. If he could see how he did that, Bucky could avoid doing that. If he couldn't, he could ask Stark how he stopped, how he could live as one person and think as another. How he lived with his ghosts, especially the ghost of himself. If he could do it, Bucky could figure out how.

"I have ghosts," he finally said. "The problem is, I can't tell what's a ghost and what's real."

Clint nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"I want to be able to separate this," he looked at the unit, "and my older self. If I know which is which and when each is motivating things, then I think I'll finally have control. Stop the flashbacks and make them actual memories. Then, I can start over. Really start over. With everyone."

"A logical plan."

Bucky jerked his head up. Natasha had snuck up on their conversation again. She was nodding, but she too was avoiding his gaze.

"You need someone who's lived a kind of dual life like what's been forced on you. And someone who's come out on top. Stark's your man. He's heading over now. I hope you don't get carsick. He drives like a maniac."

"So," Barton leaned in, "how much of… of all that did you hear?"

Natasha shrugged dismissively in perfect imitation of Barton. "Not much. I came in around the metaphor with the ghosts. An appropriate comparison, in my opinion. If our ghosts weren't intertwined, I'd be able to relate and help you, Barnes."

She fell silent for a second, staring off above their heads and then kicked her heel against the door jamb. "He'll be here in the hour, so we'd better get you prepped."

"I don't have anything to pack." Bucky was confused.

"No, not packing. Prepping. Normal people need to be briefed in order to be stuck with Stark for extended intervals."

"Otherwise, they go insane," Clint added. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"You mean, to endure the nicknames?"

"Yes. Among other things."

Prepping for Tony Stark was worse than that first day of new recruit training. At least Bucky knew what the words meant in new recruit training.

"And… what does that have to do with pepper?"

"Oh, that's Virginia Potts. Pepper is her nickname. Pepper with an upper case p."

"And they live together."

"Yes. If you need anything, a break from Stark, a breath of sanity, anything. Pepper's your go-to outlet. She's very sensible and approachable. Okay, now when, and this will happen to you, Stark descends into a flurry of jargon and slang that you can't recognize, you have to stop him and tell him that you don't understand. Otherwise, he'll keep on and you'll never catch up. And, don't let him bully you, verbally. I doubt he'll try anything physically because you're twice his size basically, but he has a big mouth and he knows how to push pressure points, most of the time without thinking because he's an egomaniacal narcissist. Warn him before he triggers you. We can't have a dead billionaire genius. He's no good to us that way."

Natasha was ticking points off on her fingers. It was possibly the most Bucky had heard her say in one go.

"Be sure to ask him about Banner while you're there. If you can meet Banner and see Stark function at the same time, all the better. The two of them are good friends and I think you'll get along very well with Banner, who's a much more down-to-earth man."

"He's the one that turns into that Hulk thing, right?"

"Correct."

"He's the down-to-earth one?"

Clint snorted behind them, but Natasha just nodded with all seriousness. "Yes."

"Okay." Bucky was not comforted by this. He may have made a mistake.

"Stark was correct yesterday. Banner could very well be the most helpful among us in getting you to reign in all those flashbacks, and the rage. He has some experience with rage."

Again, Clint snorted. Bucky was beginning to feel that he was completely missing some things that this group of people, the Avengers or whatever, had already learned about one another. He was starting out far behind.

"So, be sure to ask about him. Also, and this may just be my personal preference, but I wouldn't allow Stark to showboat if he starts. Just call Pepper. She'll shut him down. Oh, and one more thing. Stark lives, basically relies entirely on an AI assistant, JARVIS. Be ready for that."

"AI?"

"Artificial Intelligence. It's a program Stark wrote that learns and adapts. At this point it's basically a human consciousness without a body. He acts like a personal assistant for Stark from coffee making to acting as autopilot for Stark's suits. You'll get used to him."

"JARVIS."

"Yes."

Bucky drew a deep breath. The technology in this time was sometimes too much for him. "That's unbelievable. I mean, yes, Howard Stark had come up with some incredible things, floating cars and stuff, but a non-human human brain. That's… that's H.G. Wells, that's science fiction."

"Oh, man, you're in for an intense trip, then if JARVIS is throwing you." Clint commented beside him. He was cutting his nails with a knife, Bucky's knife actually. "I almost wish I was there to see it. If that didn't involve interacting with Stark."

"Yes, the tech's going to be a shock. But you'll be fine. You have a cybernetic limb. I think you'll adjust quickly enough." Natasha patted his hand quickly and then stood. "Come on, he's here."

"How'd you-"

"Nat has Stark senses. They're tingling." Clint flipped closed the knife and pocketed it.

"I could hear the engine of that ridiculously ostentatious car he drives." Natasha peered out the window and then nodded. "Pull up that hood, Barnes."

Bucky did as instructed, hiding his face and putting the unit's hand in a pocket. Natasha put on that filmy mask which immediately flashed into Stephanie.

"So… Buck, did you ever figure out Natasha's cover name?"

"What?" Bucky looked back at Clint as Stephanie/Natasha led him towards the door.

"Yeah, Stephanie Kay? Ring any bells?"

"Barton. Stop." Natasha grabbed Bucky's arm and pulled him outside before he could respond. There was something there but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Don't worry about it, Barnes. I'll explain it to you when you're ready. Mr. Stark."

"Ms. Kay, fancy seeing you here." Stark had rolled down a window and was beaming out of it, what looked like several hundred dollar sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose. "And the man of the hour, Frozone! Hop in, buddy. Lovin' the hair cut, very James Dean. Let's go get you Rebel Without a Cause ready."

"Uh… what?"

Stark scoffed and shook his head. "Worse than Cap. Alright. Work to do. Don't worry about it, right after your time. Fifties, leather jackets, greasers. We'll get you there." He jerked his head to the side. "Come on. Let's move it or lose it, old man. I don't have time for your geriatric delays."

"Don't trigger him, Stark. I'm not there to protect you." Natasha tapped the roof of the car as Bucky shut the door.

"I think I've got it, Pippi Longstocking. Thanks. I've got high-tech prostheses, too." He winked at Bucky and then waggled his brow at Natasha. "Plus, Terminator and I get along just fine, don't we. Got things in common, life experience, my dad. It'll be super-duper fantastic. Swell." He grinned at Bucky. "That slang old enough for you?"

"Uh… yes?" Bucky got the gist, at least.

"Great, plus, I'm all read up on the PTSD thing, got anxiety… stuff myself. We'll lock that down. Oh, and I've got my enormous green body-guard-slash-massage-therapist if anything goes wonky. You ready to explore the chocolate factory, Charlie?"

"What's happening?" Bucky asked quietly, looking out the window to Natasha for help. She looked at him, her face and body language full of pity.

"The full Stark experience, Buck-o! Buckle in and enjoy the ride!"

Bucky stared out the window at Natasha as she stepped away and then receded quickly into a small point in the distance. He'd definitely made a mistake.

"So? Borne Identity, how were things with Romanoff? She's a slippery, lying ginger, but under all that she's supernova hot, and worth getting to know."

Bucky turned and squinted at Stark. "Do you ever speak in plain English?"

"No." Stark looked over at him from above his glasses. "That would be boring."

"Romanoff and I have a past, one I only half remember. The getting-to-know-her part had to be put off."

Stark clicked his tongue a few times. "Happens to the best of us. Moving on! I was serious about the hair cut. You look about a hundred percent more approachable and less like a really pissed-off hobo. You ready to finish off the look, get your beach ready body in fifteen minutes or less?"

"What?"

"Ah, pop culture reference. You'll get there. You want the arm?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Right. We'll get you the arm, so you can, you know, wear a swim suit on the beach without being self-conscious. Beach-ready body? No? You're hopeless." Stark rolled his eyes as Bucky stared blankly at him.

"Are you sure you're at full cerebral operation? All the cogs turning? Lights on and the owners home? That sort of thing?"

"I know that you're offending me right now."

'Yeah, okay. Just slow on the uptake, but you went to high school, can sense tone. We can start somewhere."

Bucky looked down at his lap. He'd felt a lot of things since he re-found himself. Shame about his intelligence wasn't one of them. "I know about quite a few things, Mr. Stark. They're just actually skills, not how to make wry comments based on popular culture."

Stark was quiet for a few minutes, the first moments of actual silence since they got in the car.

"Alright. The man can joust. Touche." He finally said. "But I'll reign that in, don't want you go-go-gadgeting on me in the car." He glanced over at the unit where Bucky let it sit on his leg. He seemed wary of it. "Hey, you know if that thing's magnetic?"

Bucky slowly turned to face him. "Do not put magnets on the unit."

The question on Stark's face spread slowly into a wide, maniacal smile. "You sure have that 'I'm a villain and menacing' thing down, don't you? Ooo. Gave me the chills. Do it again." He nodded hard. "Do it again, hit me with those dead, icy blues. Oh, Bucky, you're so dreamy when you talk threatening to me."

Stark continued smiling as Bucky stared at him, perplexity growing by the second. Then he batted his eyelashes and Bucky had to turn away. He crossed his arms with an exasperated huff and stared straight ahead.

"Yes, magnets will stick to it."

"Oh, we're going to have fun. Secret messages, it'll be like the Hardy Boys."

"You're insufferable."

"Hey, that's what Cap says! I think it's his way of saying 'I love you, too, Tony.' Maybe it can be your way as well."

That hit Bucky in the stomach like a ton of bricks. Cap. "Captain Rogers?"

"Yup. But I call him Cap, or Capsicle because, let's be honest, 'Captain America' just sounds like bragging. Like, 'yeah, I'm the Captain of an entire nation, the leader of the free world. I'm CAPTAIN AMERICA.' Nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. He saved this country more than you know. Saved your father. And me. It's not bragging, it's just true," Bucky replied sullenly.

"Alright, alright. You're just a ray of sunshine. We need to melt that icy exterior down, Queen Elsa. Find you a sense of humor."

"You weren't there. There are some things that you can't joke about. Unless you don't understand."

"Okay, we're off of it. You know who you'd like? Rhodey. He's about as fun as a stick in the mud. You two'd get along swimmingly."

Incapable of keeping quiet, Stark spent the rest of the drive quizzing Bucky about things from the early twentieth century. A lot Bucky couldn't remember yet, but a few things he did, which Stark got a real kick out of.

"So, the old man tried to demo a flying car?" He cackled loudly. "And that went well, I'm sure."

"It hovered for about four seconds."

"Four seconds, huh? Not bad."

"Then it started smoking and crashed."

Another bubbling cackle. "About right. And the girls? There are always Stark girls."

"Lookers, dancers with top hats and tuxedo tails."

"Nice." He nodded appreciatively and turned the car into a small drive that led them immediately underground. Bucky hadn't seen it until they drove through it. "What about polio? Did you know people with polio?"

"Do you not?" Bucky asked in surprise.

"Nope! Hmm. Polio vaccine must be after your deep freeze. Were you before or after FDR?"

"Franklin Delanore Roosevelt was the President when I went to Europe."

"Right, ugh. History… I never really got around to internalizing it."

Bucky shook his head. A genius like that, actively shaping the world with his technology and he doesn't even know the past of the world he's molding. Seemed irresponsible. "You should really take the time. It's important. History. Should inform the present."

"Man, you are literally the biggest downer I have ever met."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

"There you go again with the Cap echo. You two are really cut from the same cloth." Stark scoffed as he stepped from the car.

"'Is everything a joke to you?' 'Can you take anything seriously?'" Stark put on a series of voices Bucky understood to be unkind impressions of Steve and himself.

"You know what? The world is an ugly, horrible, place full of shit to fuel this eternal flame of cynicism in my gut. So, yeah. I can take things seriously, but I'd rather make it all into a joke, because it's easier to deal with shit when you can laugh at it." He slammed the door of the car and walked away half-fuming. "Come on, _Strong Arm._"

Bucky sat sizing him up. He was just all talk, like Natasha had said. Ghost number one- disenchantment with the world. Coping mechanism- off-hand humor.

"I apologize, Mr. Stark." He climbed out of the car and gently shut the door.

Stark turned around, his face twisted in confusion. "What?"

"For pushing your buttons. I shouldn't have. You're here to help me."

"You did that on purpose!" Now he just looked impressed.

"I am trained in psy ops as well, sir."

"Ooh, you clever bastard." Stark held out a hand, as if to keep Bucky at a distance. "Oh, I underestimated you. I won't again. Damn. You got all underneath my skin. Phew." He shook his whole body, arms, head and all. "Okay, let's start over."

"If it makes you feel any better, you've already taught me something."

"Mm-hmm, light humor makes the world go round. Yadda yadda, Tony deals with his daddy issues by making a joke of them. Okay. Let's move on."

"What was it exactly that made you so disenchanted with this world?"

Stark furrowed his brows and looked right into Bucky's face. "Like you don't already know. Don't psychologize me, Barnes. This Bucky Barnes' Day Off is for figuring you out, not me."

Bucky shrugged. "I'm just trying to connect. Shared experience is a good start. So I've heard."

"I liked it better when you were the quiet brooding one." Stark said begrudgingly. "Let's have this conversation over some scotch. I've got a bottle that might even be as old as you."

Stark's Tower in New York City was an eyesore, but it was unbelievably luxuriant inside. And the scotch was actually only three years younger than Bucky. It was unbelievable as well.

"So, I was overseas, in the Middle East selling these new missiles. They had extremely advanced targeting systems, could decimate an entire town plus a few stragglers. You know, murder machines. Anyway, after the sale, my Humvee was hit by an ambush, the attackers had my tech and the shrapnel from one of my own missiles blew my ass to kingdom come. Or would have, if it weren't for my vest and a truly great man. Yensin was his name. He operated, removed most of the shrapnel, but I had a few pieces he couldn't get. They were being pumped towards my heart. So, he cut out a chunk of my sternum," Stark looked down at his chest and tapped his breast bone. It rang metallic. "Cut a hole the size of a fist and replaced it with an electromagnet wired up to a car battery. That kept the shrapnel from killing me. It also made me entirely dependent upon tech to survive."

He stood up and meandered over to the decanter, filling up his glass again.

"I survived. Escaped with my own invention, and came home where I wired myself up with the snazziest electromagnet piece I could. My chest piece arc reactor. And I lived that way for a few years. Just recently, I decided to go solo, live independent of my tech. So, I had the best cardiologist I could find cut me open and remove the shrapnel. Now I'm au natural. So, yeah." He nodded towards the unit. "I think we've got some comparable trauma."

He capped the decanter and then motioned to Bucky. "You need a top-off?"

"No, thank you." He swirled the liquor around in his glass. It was very fine scotch, almost too fine for him. The story hit a little close to home, too, but he didn't want to admit it. He could never have what Stark had, have his body back whole. That struck deep.

"Tony!" A woman's voice floated down to them from several rooms away. "Tony! I'm back. JARVIS, where's Tony?"

"In the lounge, Ms. Potts."

Stark shot up to Bucky, muttering quietly but very quickly. "That's Pepper, she doesn't know you're here. I forgot to run it by her first. She'll be fine, but you just gotta play it cool, alright? Cool, Buck-o. Like the Fonz."

"What?"

"It's _Happy Days_, you cave man!" Stark snapped. "It's like we're speaking different languages. Just… be cool." He whipped around at the sound of clattering heels, "Pepper! You're home!"

"I am, Tony. And so are you, with a guest." She smiled sweetly at Bucky, this tall, strawberry-blonde, wisp of a woman. She looked like a walking statue. "Hi, I'm Pepper Potts. I don't believe we've met."

Bucky stood promptly, as soon as he got over the shock of this woman, and gently clasped her extended hand. "James Barnes, ma'am. Pleased to meet you."

She quirked her head at Stark and then smiled more genuinely at Bucky. "Ma'am? Well. Nice to meet you, James. I'm surprised we haven't been introduced before, though I have to admit I don't think I've heard your name… at least not recently, maybe…" she looked like she was on the point of remembering something but then gave up, "well anyways, let's just say I'm surprised. You see, Tony doesn't have many friends. He doesn't play well with the other kids. So, I tend to know them all already."

"Bucky," Stark coughed behind Pepper. "He usually goes by Bucky."

Her face paled for a second but she recovered quickly, patting his hand and then carefully slipping her own away. "Like I said. It's nice to meet you, James. Tony? Can I speak with you for a second?" Her tone was strained, her lips pursed. She was upset. Clearly, she recognized him finally and was not happy that he was in her home. He couldn't blame her really.

"Just a sec, Ice Man." Stark winked at Bucky and then jogged off behind Ms. Potts. "Pep, Pepper. I'm sorry. I know I should have told you but-" The door sealed and their conversation faded out.

Bucky looked down at the unit, still hidden in his jacket pocket. He'd have put money on that being the reason her face paled, or the reputation that came with it. He hated it. He couldn't have a real life with it or his reputation. Everyone would just creep away from him, never turn their backs on him or take their eyes off of him for a second. It would be miserable, forced and fake. Another life of lies, these to protect his feelings but not much better than the ones protecting him as an asset.

For a short moment, he thought about just ending it. He could do it easily, just rip his heart out with the unit. But then fear rushed through him. He didn't want to stop living. He wanted to stop living _like this_. No, he needed to tough it out, and get through this. At least, with Stark's help he'd be a little less obviously a monster to hide your children from. And he still had people who didn't shrink away from him, Natasha and Clint had been fearless, dealt with him like a person. Stark seemed to treat him like everyone else, with snark and aplomb. Maybe, eventually, Steve too. Yes, he needed to give this a chance.

He tossed back the rest of the scotch and waited for it to dull some of the pain he felt in what he was coming to recognize as his soul. He was in the middle of contemplating the strange artwork decorating many of Stark's walls when the man himself came strolling back in.

"Okay, Barney, my friend. We're all set. Pepper's mollified. We can head up to the lab now. D'you like the scotch?"

"It was formidable," Bucky replied, setting the glass aside. "What in the world is that?" He pointed to a canvas dappled with splotches and splatters.

"That, that is a Jackson Pollock. Cost me several million dollars. It's a masterpiece."

Bucky snorted. "It looks like a kid come fresh from Coney Island was given some paint and let loose."

"It is a masterpiece, Etch-a-Sketch."

"Mmm. Whatever you say, Mr. Stark." Bucky narrowed his eyes at the painting, trying to see the mastery in it, and failing, walked away.

As he reached the door, he heard a small clank and looked down at where the unit was vibrating slightly. Tony was two feet away looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh, that is awesome. Through the jacket."

Bucky growled and pulled the magnet off the unit. It read 'Always as Cold as the Rockies,' it was some kind of advertisement slogan.

"Get it? Cold as the Rockies? Winter Soldier? And it's a fridge magnet... you put it on a freezer, like you were kept in... It's funny."

"I get it. It's not funny." He smashed the magnet in his good hand and then dropped the pieces into Stark's shirt pocket.

"Woo-wee! Super strength, indeed. _Smashing._" Stark practically giggled as he pulled the pieces out of his pocket, fanning himself. "So sexy, so intense. I love a challenge."


	12. 12

The tour of Stark's labs was essentially a whirlwind of shiny gadgets explained with incomprehensible terminology and pop culture references. Even when Bucky stopped him for clarification, he didn't understand most of the things that came out of Stark's mouth. Unfortunately, he couldn't even blame that on the scotch. It seemed these days that he couldn't get drunk.

"Side effects of the super soldier serums," Stark informed him when Bucky mentioned it. "Cap has remarked on it a few times."

He appraised Bucky slowly, then frowned. "I'm sorry. That's a rough one. I'm personally world-renowned for drowning my problems in alcohol. I'd miss it, if I couldn't." He sighed deeply and then smacked Bucky soundly on the shoulder. The left shoulder. He hissed and shook out his hand.

"Ow! Anyway... Let's run some proper diagnostics on this bad boy, see what we can figure out. Tomorrow we'll put you in the systems and start designing a prototype. By Thursday, we should have you looking at fabricated models."

He patted the back of a nearby chair and then strutted to one of the ubiquitous glass panels, which turned out to be some kind of computer display. When the computer display became three dimensional, Bucky nearly had a heart attack, figuratively speaking. Stark manipulated the images and output like it was physical, just with the touch of his hands. It was like magic.

"That's…"

"Freaking awesome, I know. Anyway, okay, JARVIS, kindly take us a snapshot of the Six Million Dollar Man's arm there."

"Yes, sir."

A constellation of lights hovered over the unit and then departed, transforming into an exact image of it in front of them.

"Bad ass. I mean, for the time this tech was manufactured. It's impressive. Automated response, alloy covering, surgical precision in the internal elements. Again impressive. But I can do _so_ much better." He swiped at the model and it flew to the other side of the lab.

"JARVIS, you've got the dimensions?"

"I do, sir."

"Log it as Antifreeze in the server and save the dimensions for prototyping. I need some gizmos, now. Time to get under the hood."

Bucky swallowed audibly and Stark pulled up a tray of implements. He could feel his brain fighting him. It wanted to black-out rage so badly.

"Stark…"

"What's that, Bionic Man?"

"That… that- it's tr-triggering-"

"Got it. JARVIS security protocol, Winter's Coming."

"Engaged, sir."

Bucky was suddenly immobilized. The chair had fabricated restraints from his neck to his ankles in a split second. Not even his heighted strength could budge them.

"Electromagnetically sealed. Romanoff said magnetic cuffs were about the only thing effective on super solder strength." Stark shot him an apologetic half-grin. "Sorry, pal."

Bucky spasmed.

"'Pal', was that bad? That a no-no? We need a safety word, you and I. Let's make it HYDRA." Stark grimaced down at Bucky and then over at a computer display."Okay, okay, I figured, might as well capture an episode while I've got you wired in, but I'll stop. That's a little cruel, I suppose."

It was too late though, Bucky was in the throes of losing himself. Drowning in red. This one, mostly just surges of emotions. Rage. Pain. Hatred. Nothing specifically linked. He just felt like killing someone. It ended as quickly as it began, leaving him panting and sweating but in the exact same place. Those restraints were extremely effective.

"You okay there, Bucky? You went a little ape shit on me."

Bucky spit out the blood that was flooding his mouth. "You triggered me. On purpose." He glared at Stark and then added under his breath, "that was rotten."

"D'ya bite your tongue?"

"Yes."

"Make sense, you were howling and gnashing your teeth like an animal."

Bucky huffed angrily, fixing Stark with another glare. "I am an animal."

"Well, alrighty then. I've got the stats on your...reaction, so, uh, that's interesting. I'll be going over that tonight. As for the arm, I'm going to hook it up now. Can I trust you keep things copasetic enough to unstrap you for a few seconds so you can take off that shirt, big boy? Let's see those rippling abs."

Bucky sighed, "yes." He didn't know how much more of the wisecracks he could take. He removed his shirt and then leaned back to be strapped in again.

"Winter's Coming… ha." Stark chuckled at the engagement code. "It's funny because I'm the Stark here but you're Winter. Oh, that's good." He strolled around Bucky attaching clips and pads to both his flesh and his unit, finally tapping the access joint and opening up the unit's casing.

"Okay, JARVIS, since Giggles here isn't enjoying my stand up, let's move on to the actual diagnostics section of this evening. Identify the programming, it's command sequences, the works. Then, the hardware, the nuts and bolts. Specifically target the meld point at the shoulder. I want to know exactly the organic alloy they used to fuse flesh to metal. The technique if you can. Let's try to recover as much of the organic joint as we can to adapt to the bio-mesh for the cybernetic model."

He attached a final pad, right in the center of Bucky's forehead, and then snapped his fingers.

"So, tell me, Mr. Freeze, what's your tactile response like? Do you feel with the metal arm, or is it more like electrical feedback."

"Electrical feedback. Is the forehead necessary?"

"No, I just ran out of other places to put it." Stark peeled the pad off and tossed it over his shoulder. "Okay, so it's like little buzzes when it contacts things?"

"Yes, so I know without seeing it that I'm touching something, but I can't tell what. The movements… I don't know how it does that, but it moves just like my other arm. I think, it does."

Stark nodded, "simple electrical feedback relay. Can receive neural signals but not fully generate them, so your brain just reads them as shocks. Got it. Well, I've got good news for you. You're going to be able to feel again with my model. I've got the brain all figured out. You'll have cybernerves that'll send those tactile messages just like your other hand. You'll be able to feel silk and velvet under your fingertips, everything. I can even generate you some fingerprints. You won't have to wear that biker glove to grip things. Your new skin'll do it."

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he talked, clearly excited about implementing the advances he'd worked on. Bucky couldn't help but feel almost excited as well. It did sound nice to be able to actually feel things with his left side again.

"But what if it's damaged? The skin."

"Oh, that's one of my favorite parts. The skin is organic but it's still cybernetic. It'll perform diagnostics and repair itself just like normal skin, just much, much faster."

"And for more serious repairs?"

"Well, I don't plan on having anything this exposed, with plating or anything, even underneath the skin. So, I'm going to develop a sheath that we can cover the arm in and that can disengage it and access the components through micro-entry points. At least that's the plan for now. Thoughts?"

Bucky took a deep breath and then just nodded. He really didn't have an opinion.

"Excellent. JARVIS, play my song."

"Diagnostics complete, sir. Awaiting your review."

Stark spun around and, grabbing a small light display, somehow tossed it to a book-sized screen lying on the table.

"I've got my homework, and that means that we can free you, senor guinea pig."

"Sir, you have a visitor. Dr. Banner."

"And right on time, Dr. Bruce Banner, nuclear physicist and part-time invincible behemoth. Come on down!"

A small man, meek as anything with glasses and hunched shoulders stepped inside the lab. He did not look like he could become that beast the Internet had described his alter-ego as. He looked like he was actively trying to take up as little space as possible, to be invisible. In almost every way, he seemed to be Stark's exact opposite, quiet to his chattering, reserved to his boasting, passive to his aggressive. Bucky immediately liked him better.

"Mr. Barnes. I've read your file. Glad to see you're on our team again."

He walked over and released Bucky's restraints. The thing was, as meek as this man seemed, he wasn't wary at all. Not like what Stark hid. Banner was actually fearless, or maybe he just knew monsters and Bucky's brand didn't scare him as much as his own.

He shook Bucky's hand firmly and gave him a small grin. "I look forward to working with you."

"It's good to meet you, too, Dr. Banner. I've heard a lot about you."

Banner looked down at his feet, a smile unhappily curving his lips. "Yes, the other guy's reputation tends to proceed me."

"I understand the feeling," Bucky replied. He accepted his shirt from Stark and pulled it back on, but not covering his bad reputation completely.

"No kidding, this poor guy's technically dead, like was in my history book, gone. All he's got left is the nasty alter ego for most of the world."

"Thanks, Stark."

"As sensitive and tactful as ever, Tony." Banner shook his head at Stark reproachfully and then turned to Bucky.

"So, what's the story on the prosthetic unit. It looks fairly advanced for a World War II veteran." He glanced at Bucky's shoulder under his glasses. "May I look at the surgical area? I won't touch."

Bucky nodded, pulling his sleeve up past the gnarled slab of skin and metal.

"Does it hurt?" Banner inquired quietly.

"All the time. I've learned not to notice."

Banner's brow furrowed and he leaned in for a closer look. "They…well, to be honest with you, Mr. Barnes, they didn't seem to be overmuch concerned with avoiding prosthetic friction. And… the surgical area was carelessly fused. I'm sorry. Tony? Do you have blood and marrow samples from Mr. Barnes?"

"Nah, Romanoff sent the blood to the lab. Haven't taken marrow, too dangerous. Bucky, you mind strapping down for a few more needles?"

"No, I'm used to it."

"Well, I must warn you," Banner treaded lightly around the chair, securing the restraints carefully but not as tightly as Stark's program had. "The bone marrow sample is going to hurt. We have to take it from your hip."

Bucky nodded once more. "Like I said, I'm used to pain."

He wasn't bluffing. The pain didn't set him off or even make him flinch. All his weaknesses seemed to be mental. He was completely in control as long as he didn't have to look at the needle, which Stark's futuristic furniture made possible. Bucky was staring at Dr. Banner's loafers when the samples were taken. As little as the pain bothered him, he was glad that Banner took them and not Stark. He was a more considerate individual, more sensitive to the effects of his actions, and words.

"Okay, Mr. Barnes, we'll rotate you around now. Are you feeling alright?" He was taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt as Bucky came back to his upright sitting position.

"Just peachy," Bucky muttered, rubbing the spot on his hip. He didn't complain, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it. It did hurt.

"I'm sorry that was unpleasant, but it'll benefit you in the long run. With stem cells from your marrow we can grow everything to be compatible with you on a cellular level. More than compatible, actually, identical, just partially cybernetic. A skin, tendon and muscle graft can repair some of the tissue damaged in the prosthetic's attachment as well as provide a more natural, more comfortable fuse point for the non-bio fibers. If we do the job right, you won't even notice it. In a few years, when bio-manufacturing has caught up, we may be able to just grow you a replacement arm in a lab and replace the cybernetic one with it then."

Banner unstrapped Bucky and stepped back, his face full of understanding, but uniquely, not pity. Yes, Bucky liked Banner very well.

"You really think that's possible?"

"Well, yes," Banner nodded.

"I could probably bang it out in an evening if I had the time. I almost had the equation put together for solving artificial cellular regeneration, dead drunk fifteen years ago." Stark tossed the samples in a rack and took a swig from the scotch glass he seemed permanently attached to.

Banner made something like a noise of consternation, but simply pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "What Tony is neglecting to tell you is that there are a great deal of restrictions on stem-cell research, so it's not quite as simple as banging out a formula. It takes time, paperwork, and special clearance once the equation is found to be successful, and even more time to work out the problems and complete the growth. Not to mention that all this is an expensive, trying process, with every mistake costing many hundreds of millions of dollars and wasting difficult-to-come-by resources. So, let's dog-ear a cloned arm as something to look forward to."

"Such a little pragmatist," Stark fake-beamed at Banner. "But I guess dosing yourself with gamma rays and changing yourself into a mutant goliath instead of a second Steve Rogers will do that to a person. Makes you really consider the reality of things…and the weight of one's choices."

He clapped Banner on the back and sauntered towards the elevator. "Anyone up for sushi?"

Bucky caught Banner by the arm before he could leave. "Your… your-"

"Condition?" Banner offered.

"Yes, your condition is the result of an accident?"

He nodded at Bucky. "What Erskine achieved with Rogers we initially believed to be unique, and lost. Everyone was scrambling to find the key to the formula. I postulated it was gamma rays. I was wrong. Now we know somehow Zola and Schmidt found something comparable in their experiments on you." He sighed heavily. "I wish now that you'd been rescued several decades ago, maybe my accident and a vast array of other related incidents could have been avoided."

Bucky dropped his gaze and loosed his grip on Banner's arm. "Steve's gift didn't benefit everyone equally."

"No, an idea is a beautiful but unstable thing. It can create many advancements and help many people but it can also go awry, become tarnished, or be twisted to less pure motives. We've both seen the darker side of that coin. But… progress is an ineluctable force and we simply must tumble along with it, successes, mistakes and backfires alike. Let's just hope that the purity of that idea can be maintained through others learning from us, eh?"

"Yes, yes, we're all sad outcasts on the Island of Misfit Toys. Can we sushi now? Or do we want to talk about our crippling shortcomings as well? I thought you said you didn't have the temperament for psychiatry, Bruce?"

Banner ducked his head toward the elevator, motioning for Bucky to follow. He was a little more terse with Stark in his reply.

"You caught me on a bad day, Tony. And, I don't have the temperament for two and a half hours of you stroking your ego. I can, however, spare a minute or two giving advice about something I know intimately and lending a compassionate ear, briefly. Mr. Barnes hardly had a novel to narrate."

"No, he's fairly monosyllabic."

"What's sushi?" Bucky asked, earning a histrionic groan from Stark.

"It's a Japanese cuisine, James, but don't let that put you off it. I don't know how up to date you've gotten with national relations, but we're currently amenable to Japan again. Plus, the food's quite good. Essentially, the pattern is that of seafood and rice, wrapped in a number of combinations with other condiment-like accents. Most is raw, but some is cooked and a few types are actually fried in something called a tempura batter."

Stark interrupted by physically slamming his forehead into the elevator door. "Oh _my god_, can we save the National Geographic Special for two am insomniatic television binges, please? You're spoiling the mystique, the majesty of it."

"I-I was enjoying it," Bucky offered.

"Of course, you were enjoying it. You're basically a gigantic, muscle-bound infant experiencing the world with your brand-new, over-sized blue eyes. You'll soak up every bit of information you can like a sponge, otherwise you'll seem like an invalid in public situations. But, not everything can be taught with words. Some things you just have to do and experience. Sushi is one of those things. So, shh. Let's all just… shush."

He stood, head against the door, muttering to himself. "This is why I'll never have children. The goddamn questions never stop, and there's always that one mollycoddling adult who'll answer every single fucking question from 'why is the sky blue' to the thirty-fifth iteration of 'why' that first spawned from something inane like 'why do I have a peepee and mommy doesn't?' Ugh. That's it. I've officially gotten to the point where I understand Nick Fury. I can emote with Fury. This is all your fault, Bruce. You've driven me to curmugeonliness."

Bruce smiled over at Bucky, who was flabbergasted to the point of mute staring, and whispered, "don't mind Tony. He gets a little cranky when his blood sugar's low."

"You get a little cranky when your blood sugar's low," Stark spat back.

"And regresses even further back from his normally college-level humor." Then, Banner chuckled, "you know, incidentally, I once told a man, in very broken Portuguese, that he wouldn't like me when I was hungry. That's actually true of you, Tony."

Stark just fumed. "I'll show you broken Portuguese, you… you, care bear."

"How do you do it?" Bucky asked of Banner, in amazement that a person with supposedly such a tenuous hold on his humanity could maintain a friendship with a loose cannon like Stark.

Stark, in turn, rolled his eyed and scoffed. "Great. Here it comes, the fawning admiration for Bruce's unstinting self-control and discipline. 'Oh, you're so strong. You're so resilient. You're an inspiration.' Well, guess what? He's not a cancer patient. He's a liar. It's not about control and abstention and moderation. He's not caging the beast, he's constantly feeding it so he can call it when he wants it. A fact, which he conveniently abstained from sharing with everyone, even though it would have been extremely helpful to know!"

Stark shook his head and then stormed out of the opening elevator doors. Bucky appraised Banner's response carefully, but this was unnecessary. The man simply grinned and shrugged.

"He's not wrong. I figured out I didn't need to be the prisoner of my affliction. It just required that I ascertain my triggers, condition myself to them and then turn them around so that, instead of being made victim to them, I could take advantage of them. Life's immensely more rewarding when you aren't afraid to live it. We can probably figure out something of the like for you, that way you can turn all those years of pain and confusion into something useful, channel it to make you happier, more powerful, whatever. Come on, I think you'll really enjoy sushi."

It was ridiculous to Bucky that this man, an accident survivor, chained forever to such a responsibility and the weight of the consequences of his mistakes, could be so much better adjusted than the man who literally had everything he had ever asked for. Bucky's small ray of hope suddenly glowed a little brighter.

"You two Debbie Downers both get in the backseat. I can't handle the lost puppy dog eyes or Mr. Spiritually-Fulfilled's nirvana face, right now. So, just sit back there and keep your psychological trauma to yourselves. I don't want to be a part of another soul circle jerk until I've eaten."

Bucky quietly leaned over to Bruce. "What's a circle jerk?"

"SHUT UP, BUCKY!"


	13. 13

Stark melted into his old dapper self within the first few minutes of the sushi experience. He crooned at people asking for autographs and smooth-talked his way out of explaining who his two friends were. He even managed to convince a person that Bucky's unit was a Stark prototype he was testing out for day-to-day use, not the 'metal arm of the psycho who attacked Captain America in DC.' It was impressive.

What Bucky appreciated less was the actual sushi. It was raw fish. People didn't eat raw fish, they cooked it and then they ate it. Bears ate raw fish, men had fire so they didn't have to eat it raw. At least that's how he saw things. The cooked dishes he could palate, so he made due eating some fried pieces with a fork, because the chopsticks were completely beyond him. He kept breaking them.

"No, no. Buck, come on. Forefinger there with the middle finger, ring finger on the other stick, pivot at the thumb base. It's not that hard." Stark reached across Banner to reposition Bucky's hand. The sticks snapped again and he rolled his eyes.

"Here, James, have a fork." Banner handed him the utensil and went back to deftly picking up single grains of rice with his sticks. "Do you prefer James or Bucky?"

"Either," he replied immediately, although it wasn't true. For some reason discussing his identity out in public made him very guarded.

"Alright, well, I'll try Bucky, since you respond to that a little more organically."

"The fork's a feux pas, you know that, right? Bruce?"

"He can't use the sticks, Tony. Might as well give him a chance to eat, and it's better than his fingers." Banner waved Bucky on. "So, how's Pepper? I didn't see her when I came in."

"Oh, she's on an extended vacation," Stark answered nonchalantly.

"I scared her," Bucky added.

"He did. She decided to go supervise the rebuild in California." Stark shrugged. "I think she was actually more upset that I didn't consult her first, but whatever."

"You should work on that, Tony. Pepper's a wonderful woman. She deserves the best."

"Gee, thanks, Bruce. I could never have figured that on my own."

"Just saying." Bruce looked over and shook his head at Bucky. "Maybe not the wasabi, Bucky. It's very spicy."

Bucky looked at the innocuous green lump on his fork and contemplated doing it anyway, but accidently going red in the middle of a public space wasn't a good idea, so he scraped it off and pushed around the other pieces on his plate instead.

"You don't like it." Stark seemed disappointed, which was funny because it was Bucky who was left hungry. The look on his face made it seem like Bucky had personally insulted him.

"It's a little… exotic for me."

Stark snorted. "I should have known. You thought baked oysters was high society in your day."

"Tony, oysters are still considered a luxury item for most people."

Stark rolled his eyes, but didn't snap like before. "Alright, alright. My luxury compass is a little miscalibrated. Sorry, Bucks. We'll get you something more American back at the Tower."

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you three here." A tall, dark-haired woman slipped into the seat next to Bucky and commandeered his plate. "Did you get a day pass, or at least a permit for having this many WMD's within a five-mile radius of one another, Stark?"

"Hill. How are things? You fitting in with the company?"

"Just swell, boss. Hey, Barnes, you're not bad looking all cleaned up. He needs two different permits, Stark." She appraised Bucky with a bolder gaze than he was used to from ladies. It made him feel uncomfortable. "How you feelin'? Stable?"

Bucky cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am."

Her face dropped its rigidity. "Aw. He is heart-breaking. So well-mannered off the muzzle. You get de-conditioned properly, give me a call, huh? If you want." She slipped a card into the sleeve of Bucky's unit and then leaned towards Stark.

"Seriously, though, Stark. It's probably time to get these two back under cover. I've been covering radio, just out of old habit, and there've been some reports to this location. You're going to have company soon."

She slipped back out of the chair as lithely as she'd sat, grinned at Banner, "Dr." and then winked at Bucky. "Ugh, those pouty lips and the baleful blue eyes, sheesh, you're killin' me, and not literally this time. Over and out, boys."

"Agent Hill really liked you, Bucky," Banner observed as they watched her walk away.

"Had some serious lady-wood, yes. Everyone loves a bad boy, trust me, I know. Let's go though, before our bad boy asses get cornered." Stark shoved them from the table, dropping a hundred dollar bill beside their plates as they left.

"Nervous, Tony?" Banner asked glibly as he followed at a luxurious pace.

"No. Just not really spoiling for a fight. You?" Stark was discreet, but he was carefully surveying their surroundings. Like Bucky, he was probably checking to see if anyone was watching or tailing them.

"Not at all. It just strikes me that without the suits you're a little jumpy. I find it curious."

"Well, I'm not totally exposed right now," he pulled a puck-sized metal disk from his jacket pocket. "I'm packing repulsor tech, just in case. I just don't like our chances of preventing Bucky from going dark side, warding off attackers and keeping civilian injuries to a minimum, preferably zero. It's just too much, too many variables and we can't let Darth Eismench escape either. I don't want to deal with the fallout from Natasha."

"Ah." Banner glanced over at Bucky with the expression of realization. "Come on, Bucky. Tony's right. Quicker's better."

Banner watched Bucky carefully as Stark pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot. He seemed to be weighing a few options.

"So, what do you think about taking Agent Hill up on her offer, Bucky?"

Bucky shook his head as he stared at his knees. "Oh, I don't think so, Dr. Banner."

"Come on, Bruce he's obviously hung up-"

"Just." Banner held up his hand to Stark and turned back around to face Bucky in the backseat. "I think trying something like dating might be a good idea for you. I know that before your accident you were very social, that you enjoyed dating."

He waited until Bucky looked up.

"Is that true?"

"I think so. I-I mean, I have memories of dances and fairs and motion pictures, and I think I enjoyed myself."

"Good. So, it may be good for your therapy to try doing those things again. It's important, when you're dealing with internal conflict, especially on the psychological pain scale that you are, that you find activities that are distinctive to the personality that you wish to make dominant and re-engage in them. It may even cause your… factory settings to restore, if you will. That is, cause your original personality to reassert itself. Associative reversion."

Stark grumbled something under his breath and Banner paused. "Did you say something?"

"No. Nothing, Therapist Bruce."

"After… okay, so I've done some reading since your life story. It seemed I had a gap." He waited until Stark stopped laughing and then continued. "Since those things you describe, dancing, fairs and movies are things that you enjoyed pre-accident and did not experience afterwards they're the best candidates for this type of conditioning. Casual dating as well, assuming your assassin missions didn't involve any sort of deep cover."

Stark burst out laughing again, raucously. "You didn't see the guy yesterday, Bruce. There's no way. No offense, Bucky, but you were socially impaired yesterday even when your brainwashing was starting to wear off. From what Natasha told me, he was practically a robot that they reprogramed, there was no way he did any kind of deep cover, they fried his brain too much to assign him anything more complex than 'kill this guy.' Plus, with the arm, he was lucky if they let him out in the yard, if you know what I mean. That's why 'The Winter Soldier' was such a spy ghost story. He was like the yeti of the intelligence community." He snorted again, "can you imagine him getting any action then? No."

Stark looked over to share in his laughter with Banner, but the latter was not amused. He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Insensitive, Tony. Insensitive."

"It's true," Bucky said off-handedly. "No point in beating around the bush. I was a puppet. To the extent that I forgot about some of the functions of my body until... recently…" he trailed off, wide-eyed. Why had he said that? That was not something one shares.

Tony nearly wrecked the car craning his head around to gawk at Bucky. "What!?"

"TONY! The road! Eyes on the road!" Banner grabbed the wheel and jerked them back into their lane. "Turn around and leave Bucky alone! And don't kill yourself! God knows you don't want to get us into a car crash, I don't know if I can control the other guy if I get injured."

"Yeah, you hulking out in the middle of the financial district would be bad. In other news, Bucky has just revealed that he's had an erection in the last forty-eight hours."

"You don't know that. He could have been referring to…to anything. Cryo sleep can inhibit a number of autonomic responses."

Stark scoffed, "sure. And any of those can explain the look of horror on his beet red, old-fashioned face."

"Don't worry about it, Bucky. We can hardly judge you-"

"Yeah-huh! Especially not Bruce. Hey, funny story. So, one time, before he got the whole-that's-my-secret-I'm-always-angry-technique down he almost ripped Betty Ross in half."

"Tony."

"Yeah. He got all hot and bothered and nearly hulked out on top of her. So… you've got nothing to be embarrassed about in comparison. And, what am I saying? I used to actively advertise the number of women I'd consorted with, like in magazines. You're in the best of company for such an admission, I was just surprised is all. It seems your red, white, and blue counterpart has never been able to do that, so…"

"Steve couldn't talk to women before the serum. He didn't have much practice afterwards during the war. Then, with Agent Carter before… whatever happened to him, I'm not surprised he hasn't started going steady with anyone yet."

"But you could."

Bucky could see Stark's ear-to-ear grin in the overhead mirror. "Well, yes. I tried setting him up, getting double dates, but he always seemed to have other things on his mind. He was… he was a better person than I was, more focused on important issues. Finding a job, finishing school, proving he could take care of himself, enlisting a dozen times. I wanted to have fun."

"Understandable," Banner said, looking at Bucky like he expected him to go on.

"Yeah… my last night before I shipped out I found him in the back alley of the picture theater we used to go to getting the stuffing beaten out of him, but he just kept getting up again. He was always like that, not backing down when he should have. I got him out of that scrap and told him I'd gotten us dates for the Stark Expo."

Banner chuckled quietly and motioned for Bucky to continue.

"So, he'd just tried and failed to enlist again and I was trying to make him feel better about staying behind. I told him he was about to be the only available man in America with three and a half women left behind and he," Bucky chuckled thinking back on Steve's response, "he said 'well, I'd settle for just one.' He was always like that. Then, later with our dates I turned around and he was gone. He'd snuck off to try to enlist again. And what'd I do? I took them both dancing."

Bucky sighed and then laughed again. "I should have taken the girls home and dragged Steve out of there, had a drink instead. Saved his scrawny ass from himself again. That was the night he met Erskine. He told me that later, in England."

He looked up, realizing the car was entirely silent. Banner was staring at him with a little, cautious grin on his face. Stark was watching him in the mirror, eyebrow raised.

"Is that the first time you've laughed, Buck-o?"

"What?" Then it came crashing down on him, his unit, the cold, the deaths. For a moment or so he'd forgotten all that. He had just been Bucky. "I… yes. Or smiled… I-I didn't even realize…"

"See?" Banner asked brightly. "This is going to work. If just talking about these things can make you revert, imagine what doing them will accomplish."

Bucky nodded. It had worked, something had worked. He just wasn't sure if it was old habits or Rogers that had done it.

"I could go dancing," Stark said.

"Yeah?"

"I've got moves."

"I think, Tony, the dancing that Bucky would prefer isn't really compatible with your… moves."

Stark scoffed, "my funny green friend, I've got all kinds of moves. Tango? Sure. Waltz? Sure. Swing? You betcha."

"Oh." Banner sat back, surprised. "What's your favorite, Bucky?"

"The shag." He responded without thinking. "Though, I liked the Lindy Hop's tricks, I couldn't ever get the hang of them. I knew some girls who could though."

"Naughty." Stark jibed.

"It was fun," Bucky replied, a little defensively.

"I suppose that's the forties equivalent to grinding."

"Grinding? That sounds… painful."

"Oh, _it's not_."

Banner tutted quietly and then turned to face ahead. "I think that's a plan, then. We'll try to find a swing dance hall somewhere. I'm sure Agent Hill knows how to dance."

"But-" Bucky tried to object but, unlike before, Banner continued to talk over him.

"And, Tony, I'm sure that if you call Pepper, she'd be more than happy to come back for a night."

"Yeah, I'll put on the moves."

"Or, you could just explain."

"Whatever. You're no fun. What about you? Got some secret lady-friend? Or-or did you finally call Betty?!"

"Oh, oh, no. I don't dance. I don't put myself in situations that involve dozens of other people possibly touching me. No. I'll be reading a book in bed."

"No. Fun."


	14. 14

Bucky spent the majority of the next day dreading this dance date. The only reason he slept at all that night was that Stark put him under general anesthesia and a double dose of elephant tranquilizers. Literally elephant tranquilizers, as he'd informed Bucky. He slept those eight hours without dreams or flashes for the first time since he defected. It was a night of peace. He may have been influenced also by the fact that Stark had put him up for the night in a titanium enforced room that had no windows and a metal door that magnetically sealed from the outside. A man without worries sleeps soundly, apparently.

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes. Can I interest you in an espresso or a cup of hojicha?"

Bucky froze on the bed. He had just been sitting up and shaking off the effects of the tranquilizers when a disembodied British male asked him about… some things Bucky didn't recognize. It took him a second to remember he was in Stark Tower and that Stark had a personal assistant that was a sentient computer. He was also British for some reason.

"Uh… no, thank you?" He didn't know where to look and answer. It was disorienting.

"Very well. Mr. Stark is in the garage if you would like to join him. Otherwise, I may escort you to the kitchen."

Escort? How could a disembodied voice escort him? He was hungry, though. Very hungry.

"The… kitchen, I guess? Please."

"Very well. This way, if you will." The door unsealed with a pop and opened to the hallway.

Bucky scrambled to pull on a fresh set of shirt and pants, which Stark had insisted on buying to replace the set Bucky'd been wearing for several days, and then stepped cautiously out of the door. To his left another door opened leading to an elevator.

"This way, sir."

"Thank you," Bucky muttered and then slipped into the elevator. It started off on its own, giving Bucky the heebie-jeebies. This world was difficult to get accustomed to in many ways, this was one of the worst. There used to be elevator operators. Bucky wondered where all those jobs went.

"The kitchen, sir."

Bucky stepped out and peered around. This wasn't a kitchen, it was an assembly hall full of appliances and marble. He had no idea how to operate half of the machines in there, though a few of them vaguely resembled things he used to use, like ovens and ranges. He couldn't find the refrigerator, though, until he walked into it, trying to leave.

"Holy cow, who needs a refrigerator this big?" He asked no one in particular.

Refrigerator discovered and pantry pointed out by JARVIS, another moment that frightened Bucky to the point of almost going red (the pantry door was his only casualty and Bucky hoped Stark wouldn't be the one to notice its hinges were missing), he was able to scrape together a meal he knew about. He still didn't trust the microwave, something about it being close to the H-bomb frightened him, so he avoided it. But he could use the toaster and the range. He made eggs and toast and sat down, alone in the middle of the enormous room, to enjoy it.

The door opened a few minutes later and Dr. Banner appeared, mug in hand, glasses askew and hair mussed on one side. He was carrying a bunch of papers and one of Stark's book-sized computers.

"Oh, good morning, Bucky." He was surprised to find him there. "Did you sleep alright?"

"Like a dead man," he replied, and not without irony.

"Mmm, good. I figured the anesthetics would do the trick. Any dreams?"

"None at all."

Banner set down all his things across the table from Bucky. "I'll make a note of that. Maybe we can find a way to simulate the full unconsciousness of medicated sleep by monitoring your brain waves tonight and just triggering your neural patterns electrically."

Bucky swallowed slowly. He didn't like the sound of 'electrically' and Banner must have picked up on his hesitation.

"Oh, don't worry. You won't feel it and it won't cause any damage." He nodded as he typed on the screen of the computer and then scribbled in his papers. "I just can't seem to abandon the paper. So silly." He muttered and reached for his mug.

"Did you sleep well, Dr. Banner?"

"Oh, well, no, but it's alright. I just got engaged with some calculations and then I started on this… anyway, I got distracted. I dozed off around five but then I thought of something in that twilight place which woke me up and I just kept working. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thank you. It doesn't really do anything for me anymore and I never really liked the taste."

"Mmm. So, did you find something to eat?"

"I actually did. Turns out you haven't replaced chickens or wheat yet with your new-fangled bio…stuff. I can cook eggs."

Banner chuckled quietly and sat back down with his mug steaming. "That's good. Good. Are you excited about this evening?"

Bucky didn't want to offend Banner but he also didn't want to lie.

"I'm nervous."

"Oh, that's natural, I think, returning to something you haven't done in a while, but Maria Hill was very interested in you and you know more about this sort of thing than Tony and probably the rest of the people in that dance hall will. You'll be fine."

"Are you sure I couldn't just ask Ms. Romanoff?"

"No. No, that can't happen. She explicitly said that you two cannot interact until you're able to have a flash back and work through it without losing primary consciousness. Besides, she's in deep cover and can't afford to possibly expose herself here, even with the facial hologram."

"Oh." Bucky pushed the last few pieces of his eggs around on the plate and tried not to seem too disappointed.

"Hey!"

Bucky turned to find the whole south wall of the room illuminated with a picture of Stark and a collection of gadgets.

"Are you going to just sit there all morning or are you going to come look at prototypes?"

Bucky turned around to see if there was a camera behind him.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, Buckleberry Finn. Come on, I want to fabricate tonight while we're out so we can get you into surgery with Lawson tomorrow morning. Oh, Christ. What? You can't just open doors? You have to rip 'em off their hinges?"

Bucky looked around again. How could Stark see the pantry door, too? "But I-I thought you were in the garage."

"Yeah, and in case you haven't noticed, this whole place is full of doors, stairs and elevators. I moved. Get up to the labs, you dinosaur, and try not to destroy anything on your way." The screen turned back into the wall and Bucky looked to Banner.

"Better get up there. He tends to make decisions without consulting others if left alone long enough."

Bucky swung out of the chair and, dropping his dishes in the sink, headed towards the elevator. "I'll wash those later..."

"Not to worry. Oh, and Bucky, try to work through your triggers today if you encounter any. Focus on things like you did last night, dancing and movies and Steve. The faster you're able to overwrite the impulses caused by unpleasant memories with calming reactions from happy ones, the faster you'll be able to confront the things that overlap, like Captain Rogers himself and Natasha."

"Right. Thanks, Dr. Banner."

"Yep, I'll be up there in a while. Don't kill Tony before I get there."

It was a joke but it made Bucky a little nervous. Stark did have a way of instigating him. Fortunately, by the time Bucky got to the labs, Stark was too excited about the prototypes to be dangerously obnoxious.

"There you are! So, I've narrowed us down to two possibilities. The first," Stark swiped his hand across his computer's display and conjured a floating arm in the air. "The first is my personal favorite. It simulates the biomechanics of the human arm precisely, because I've patterned it to be biologically mimetic. So this is the exterior, pretty standard. The skin'll be part yours, from the stem cells of your marrow. It'll give us receptor points for my cyber-nerve system. The other part'll be a silicon netting for strength, flexibility and a medium to house the repair cells. It won't have hair but otherwise it'll look just like your skin. Fingerprints, palm lines, even a flesh color response to heat, cold, and light."

Stark grinned broadly as Bucky wondered at the image. It looked incredible. He tapped the image twice and the schematics of the arm blew apart, skin detached from the arm and exposing the slivery fibers beneath.

"Now, the fun part. Skin's one thing, muscles, ligaments and tendons are another, so this part's all machine but it works like flesh, better than flesh. I've used an alloy similar to what I manufacture my suits from, hard, durable but light. This particular alloy is even lighter and slightly more flexible to allow for mobility. Now, there are about three billion threads of this making up the fibers of the twenty muscle groups. They contract and relax just like organic muscles, each strand bunching together or stretching out. So, you'll have normal, natural range of motion with reactions and reaction time that feels just like your other arm. Unlike your current model, it won't have to switch gears or rev up. Tendons and ligaments are constructed on the same premise, emulating anatomy."

He grinned and tapped again. This time the image left what looked like bones.

"And the skeleton, as literal as I can be when talking about metal. Again, based on the original, retro designs. Alloy bones, this time the exact kind as my suits, harder than the flesh stuff. You're not going to break these bones unless you wind up facing a Norse god or a trash compactor. I don't recommend either. Hollow," he tapped yet again, "inside's my favorite bit. Full diagnostic system and secondary operation unit. The arm responds to neural relays but in case that gets locked out, I've installed an infant AI OS you can initialize with your voice. Only your voice, we don't want you hijacked. This system, when dormant like it normally will be, will run diagnostics and initiate the repairs it can with its micro-bots. Bigger repairs we'll have to do surgically through specific micro access points."

Stark grinned again, a little maniacally and herded the detached pieces together again. They spun and then started moving, periodically separating again to show particular pieces operating. Bucky was so entranced, he didn't even notice Banner pad up beside him.

"Bruce! Look it, behold. It would make the Empire proud, or jealous. Prototype Luke Skywalker. Looks real, wielded by a hero. I thought about Number Six, but her storyline's so conflicted it seemed like bad juju. However, if I fabricated a full body for this jewel, not only would it be sexy as hell-sorry, Buck, wouldn't look like you-but it could reproduce with a human."

"That's disturbing," Bucky said, turning away from watching the metallic triceps contract and relax.

"I agree with Bucky, a little too cyborg apocalypse for my taste." Banner stepped up to the computer to inspect the read out. "Excellent stats, and the test sequences?"

"Ninety-nine percent without glitch."

Banner nodded. "That sounds excellent. What do you think, Bucky?"

"When people touch it will they feel that it's metal?"

Both Banner and Stark sighed deeply.

"On the surface, no. It'll feel like skin in texture and even heat, yeah I programed a body temperature simulator. But, uh, if someone grabs it or does anything applying pressure, yes, they'll be able to feel that it's harder than muscle. We talked about a layer of something spongy to simulate fat and softer flesh but the materials would be too delicate and would impede the arm's function."

Bucky couldn't say that wasn't disappointing, but it didn't take away from all the improvements this unit would offer. "Well, I like it. It'll be nice to feel again, and less staring."

"Copasetic. The next I've dubbed RoboCop and you'll see why. It's the same basic premise as Luke Skywalker, cyber-flesh and nerves so it'll look normal, but it's a little heavier duty inside."

Stark quickly swiped away the exterior of the model to reveal a denser more robotic looking schematic. "So, Luke Skywalker was designed with civilian life in mind, it's made for precision and camouflage. You won't be accidently breaking wine glasses with that one. The delicate construction of the muscle fibers created a design flaw, though, in the strength. It'll match and surpass your super soldier flesh limb by thirty one percent, but it can't reach the sheer power of the model you're wearing now. The muscle fibers are too fine, too true to the original to do that. So, RoboCop's got that raw force but less finesse, for if you want to… go back to being a living weapon."

Bucky cleared his throat but couldn't get the taste of bile out of his mouth. He didn't want that, but it would be rude to interrupt Stark's presentation.

"Don't get me wrong, you could easily still serve with Luke Skywalker. Accuracy and reaction time would be improved and the loss in power could be compensated for with, say, allies, like us good guys have, but with RoboCop you could go at it alone, block bullets with it and shit. You see I had to abandon the one-to-one mimetic muscle fibers with this one and create full muscle blocks. It still follows anatomical physics but macro level. RoboCop's also heavier because of the denser components, but not heavier than 1.0 there and it's got the internal systems like Skywalker."

He collapsed the arm back into one piece and tossed the other model out beside it.

"So, which one do you prefer?"

"The first. Definitely the first."

"Excellent." Stark tossed out of view the second model and enlarged the first, focusing on the shoulder joint. "So, Bruce, where are we with the graft?"

Banner exhaled loudly. "Well I've convinced one of my old colleagues in genetics to accept the samples. He's not a bioengineer but he knows the science, he can execute the grow. It'll be done in two days if he gets the Extremis compound from you, which I have to admit makes me a little nervous."

"What? It's a good piece of tech, why let it go to waste just because it was most recently responsible for creating human bombs? I've worked out the glitches… and the dragons. No more backfires, and I've recoded to not allow for fire-breathing, melting or anything of that sort. The thermo kickback was extraneous."

"Hmm," Banner pursed his lips, conceding but still wary.

"Are you talking about the AIM soldiers?" Bucky asked. "That was strange, but they weren't invincible. You just had to rip their head off."

Stark and Banner slowly turned to him.

"Are you speaking from experience, Adam?"

Bucky and Banner both paused on that one.

"What? No Buffy fans here? Fine… too obscure. Uh… Six million-no, done that one. Darth Vader, yup. Terminator, check, though not actually a cyborg. Gah, fine! You've got me, I don't have another one off the top of my head!" Stark threw his hands over his head. "Well, Bucky, did you rip a man's head off?"

"No."

They breathed a sigh of relief.

"The Winter Soldier ripped six of their heads off. They got in the way of a mission."

Stark's face visibly fell but Banner smiled. "That's good, you're distinguishing your disparate identities!"

"Yeah. Dissociated self only manually decapitated six molten murdersuits. Totally good news."

"Bucky's taking steps towards dealing with his psychological trauma. We shouldn't mock that. How're you doing with that, while we're on the subject? Wormhole's still a trigger word?"

Stark hissed and covered his ears, forehead sheening instantly with sweat and his pupils dilating to pinpricks. "Not cool. Just-just saying it with the word, not even having the courtesy to gently allude to-eh-to it. Hoo!" He was pacing in circles, breathing heavily and erratically.

Bucky recognized the symptoms. Stark was having an episode, but this seemed like fear not loss of self.

"It's an anxiety attack," Banner murmured, sidling over to where Bucky was watching. "It isn't dangerous, just feels like your world's collapsing, maybe a little like your chest'll implode. But he'll be fine. He owes you one, and it was about time he got knocked down a peg. Just breathe through it, Tony! You're doing great."

Stark shook a fist weakly at Banner but maintained his ritual like pace until his breaths came deeper and slower.

"I didn't know I wasn't the only one," Bucky said as Stark leaned over, finally stationary, and rested his hands on his knees.

"You're very far from the only one. PTSD is unfortunately a common condition. It manifests differently depending upon the trauma and the person. Tony has anxiety and occasional panic attacks, some people become violent or cripplingly shy. Yours is intensified by artificial amnesia and concentrates around the dichotomy of your dual identities. But, no. Absolutely not the only one, in fact, I bet there are at least a handful of others in your situation who are recovering from brainwashing."

"That was a real dickhead move, Bruce. Not Science Bro sporting. I'm revoking your lab privileges for the day." Stark was only half-shouting. His voice was still weak.

"Okay, well, just let me take the Extremis, so I can tell Watt it's on its way. Then I'll remove myself from the labs." Banner chuckled lightly as he headed to the other side of the lab.

"He's not going to leave, is he?" Bucky asked as Stark finally rejoined him by the prototype's image.

"Not even a little. So, you agreeing to this model?"

Bucky looked at it again. "Yes."

"You heard him, JARVIS, render Luke Skywalker's internal components and prepare the silicon net for organic material on… Tuesday? Whatever's two days from now. We'll schedule the surgery for the third day. Send a copy of the design to Lawson and tell him it's going to take longer to fabricate than I initially thought."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Buckminster Fuller, you and I have suits to try out. So, move it. We only have four hours and I don't know if that's enough to make you look less gloom and doom. Even with the suits. I look great in all of mine. But you… yeesh. Okay, move it faster." Stark waved at the door but then helped up a hand. "Actually, shower first. JARVIS, show our ragamuffin guest to a shower and get him a razor."

"Yes, sir."

"And hurry, Jack Frost. This isn't a rom-com, you're not going to go from Oliver Twist to Danny Zuko by taking off your glasses to a peppy music montage."

Bucky didn't know what half of that meant but he understood the urgency, so he followed the magically opening doors and tried to keep from feeling as though he'd just been repeatedly offended. He showered and shaved as quickly as he could, and was just pulling on under clothes when the door burst open.

"Hey, are you named after a president?" Stark swaggered inside, holding a martini glass and a bagel. "Oh, don't be so prudish. It's not like I haven't seen another man's junk. I went to college."

Bucky stopped flailing to pull on his robe and stuttered out, "uh, y-yes. James Buchanan, 15th president of our nation. My father liked history."

"Thought so. To name a kid after a president, though, you'd think you'd go big, like Abraham Lincoln or George Washington, but no, your old man went with the only known bachelor president. Strange. Anywho. You ready? You've been in here long enough."

Tony looked up from the small phone he was also carrying and rolled his eyes. "You were in your underwear and you still jumped like a kid caught masturbating. What's the matter with you? Come on. You… grandpa." He grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and dragged him along. "Stop squirming, you're dressed enough."

"But-"

"No one can see anything. You've got an undershirt on as well for god's sake. On the Shore, you'd be considered dressed for business casual. Serving time in the army, you'd think you'd get over this body bashfulness."

"There could be ladies around," Bucky said, checking over his shoulder to make sure no such person was in sight.

"Well, you're not going to embarrass women these days in that. Come on, meet Jenny. She's my buyer." Stark swept Bucky into a large room full of clothing racks and pushed him in front of a young woman in a skirt suit.

She smiled sweetly and held out her hand. "Jenny Todd, _personal shopper_, Mr. Stark. Happy to meet you, Bucky." She hardly even looked at the unit. Stark must have briefed her.

"Personal shopper, right. Anyway, Jenny's got suits. You've got fashion shortcomings. Go." He sat down on a long leather sofa and tossed back the rest of his martini. "JARVIS, hit me again."

Bucky caught sight of another martini rising from a side table just before he was shooed behind a dressing cubicle's curtain by Ms. Todd. He stepped out a few minutes later almost feeling more exposed than when he was just in his undergarments.

He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, miss, but does it have to be this… tight?"

Stark looked up, "that's how a suit's supposed to fit, when it actually fits."

"I feel… on display. Suits didn't used to be tailored this close. There was room, to move, to breathe."

"I think you look dashing, but this next one's a different cut, if you want to try it." Ms. Todd handed him another hanger and ushered him away again.

"Just make sure you hang that one up, Buck-o!"

"I don't know, Stark. This all seems overdone." He said, stepping out again. He felt like a circus ring-leader in this one.

"You're right, I like the first one better." Stark turned his nose up to Bucky and waved him off. "Next."

Bucky sighed and took the next hanger from Ms. Todd. This was going to be long, painful, and humiliating. Two suits later, Bucky finally stepped out feeling comfortable.

"Now, this is a retro cut. I selected it… well, because of what Mr. Stark told me." Ms. Todd stepped up to Bucky to smooth out the fabric over his shoulders. He even managed not to flinch away when she touched him. Stark appraised him looking moderately satisfied.

"It… suits you. Ha."

Ms. Todd continued, "looser cut in the shoulders and narrow in the waist with a straight leg and slight tapering to the ankle. No vent. Hard seams. Wide notch lapel. Three button closure. I had a waist coat in mind but… I don't think it'll work as well."

Bucky liked it the best so far. It almost felt familiar.

"And to add a modern twist, there's a slight herringbone pattern. Mr. Stark? Thoughts?"

Stark considered Bucky for a second. "I think we need a second opinion. BRUCE!" He shouted, waited four seconds and then shouted again.

"Sir? Shall I call Dr. Banner?" JARVIS interrupted a third attempt.

"Yeah, tell him we need his eye for detail. And to bring a bagel."

Banner stepped inside a few minutes later, with the requested bagel. "You summoned? Oh, Bucky, you look nice."

"Thank you," he replied to his feet.

"So, you like this one? I think we should put on the first and fourth ones as well for Bruce to see."

Bucky sighed.

"Wait, Bucky, do you like this one?"

"Just put the other two back on, Buck."

Bucky didn't wait for the two of them to stop quibbling. He figured it was easier just to do what Stark asked and get it over with. He squeezed back into the first suit and stepped back out.

"See? That one's nice, too. It's a good quality suit."

"Well, he looks like you, Tony. Do you want him to look like you?"

"No…"

"Then, maybe we should let Bucky choose the one he feels most comfortable in, which is clearly not this one."

"Okay, _Mom._ Put the other one on, Bucky."

Bucky stepped back behind the curtain, shaking his head. Stark was a bully. No wonder he and Steve didn't get along. If he hadn't done so much for him, Bucky'd have given him a piece of his mind.

"And this one's a three piece. Very nice." Stark nodded and then glanced at Banner, who was shrugging. "Oh, alright. Which one do you prefer, Total Recall?"

"The last one, the…" Bucky hesitated, how best to explain his choice...? "The one I'm not... on show in."

Stark rolled his eyes but waved his acceptance.

"I think he needs cufflinks." Banner added, "oh, and a pocket square. And wing-tipped shoes."

Stark rubbed his eyes with the butts of his palms hard, downing the next martini afterwards. "Let's see the ties, Jenny. And then somebody has to do something with his hair."


	15. 15

Stark had a point. Ever since Natasha had cut off all his long hair, Bucky hadn't really done anything to it except wash it and towel it dry. He'd mostly forgotten about it, and just let it do whatever, like with the longer hair. Now, he didn't know much about how to wear his original hair length. He remembered something about combing it but it was sort of foggy. Not being in the habit of looking in the mirror except to shave, he really hadn't noticed how unkempt it looked until Stark made him stand in front of one and choose a tie.

"Just pick one, Memento. It's easy. Grey or black. Grey or black?"

Jenny patiently held up each tie in turn as Bucky stared at himself. Ritzy as he was dressed, he looked a wreck. He looked the way he had after he'd been rescued and first dragged himself in front of a tarnished dinner plate to shave off his captive scruff. Just, without the scruff. Dark circles under his eyes, hair tangled and matted down. As if out of reflex, he reached up and pushed the hair back and off his forehead to each side. Just with that he looked a bit more put together, more like how he remembered looking. He reached for his pocket, but of course there was no comb there. Stark and Banner seemed to anticipate what he was doing and there was a small Ace comb in his hand a few seconds later, just like the one he'd used. Even all these years later, his cowlick was the same and the hair fell easily along its old part over his left eyebrow.

"Better," he declared. He didn't even mind the little piece that fell over the center of his forehead. It seemed like it belonged there. Natasha had done a good job. She'd replicated his preferred cut perfectly.

"Some product and it'll stay exactly." Ms. Todd sounded far off. Someone responded to her, but Bucky wasn't listening. He was remembering. Remembering Steve joking around about the amount of time he'd spent getting that hair right for the dance halls. Telling him other things mattered more to people than the neatness of his pompadour.

"It looks just like the photo," Banner was saying. "You want to try some styling wax?"

Bucky snapped out of his reverie. "You have any Brylcreem?"

Stark narrowed his eyes at him, cut them at Banner and then shut them tight, laughter bubbling out of him as he walked away without a word. Banner, perplexed but his usual helpful self, told Bucky he'd try to find something like that. And then suggested that Bucky choose the grey tie.

"I'll leave you with the ties as I go figure out what snapped Tony's waistband." Banner bobbed his head at Ms. Todd and then hurried out, taking the uneaten bagel with him.

Bucky buttoned his collar and finally looked at the two ties.

"May I have the grey one, please, Ms. Todd. Thank you." He remembered the old half-Windsor knot easily, and Banner was right. The grey looked better with the suit's herringbone pattern.

He looked at himself in the mirror one more time and tried not to wince in front of Ms. Todd. He looked nice, like he was going on a date eighty years before, but he didn't feel that way. He felt like a liar. He felt like a wolf dressed up as a lapdog. He could still feel the unit underneath the suit, just hidden, not gone, and that was only the visible part. As he thought about it more and more, looking like this he was even more dangerous: innocuous at first sight, baby faced and well dressed, but still a stone-cold killer under the wrong circumstances.

This night wasn't a good idea. He was unnecessarily threatening dozens-maybe more-innocent people by going out like this. None of them would be on their guard. No one would know. When he was feral looking with the long hair, the dead eyes, his muzzle and the visible unit, people avoided him instinctively. They gave him a wide berth, whispered and pulled their children inside. Like this, people wouldn't even notice him. They would touch him and instigate them, not knowing the bear they were poking just by being their normal, inconsiderate selves. They could die without a second thought by him, heads ripped off like those AIM soldiers. Except, but for being impolite, they didn't deserve it.

He was on the verge of losing control of his breathing when Stark came flouncing back in, Banner in his wake.

"So, you said that, that Brylcreem, and I thought, 'Tony, you've seen that somewhere before,' then I realized, 'hey, the old man had a stockpile of that stuff' and I knew he'd stashed some in basically every place he had a squirrel hole. Sure enough, I had some of it in storage with his old stuff here- Bucky?"

Bucky was paralyzed. Ms. Todd hadn't noticed, must've just thought he was admiring his reflection, hadn't looked up from her phone. Stark and Banner noticed, though.

"Um, Ms. Todd, why don't you go take a break? We'll call you when we're ready for the rest. Hmm?" Banner's voice was calm but his words were more clipped than normal, he was tensing for a fight.

"Yeah, check out the watches and shoes, please, Jenny." Stark herded her to the door and shut it behind her. "JARVIS, lock us down in here and drop me a repulsor disk and two batches of azaperone."

"Lock down in effect, sir. Right away."

Meanwhile, Banner had edged over to Bucky. He appeared in the mirror behind him and Bucky locked eyes with him. "Are you alright, Bucky? Are you having an attack?"

"I don't know," Bucky gasped.

His chest felt like it was compressing and would never let up. His head was buzzing and light and his throat wouldn't swallow. He never felt his heart, but right then it was pounding like it was about to leap from his chest. It felt like he was losing control but the rage didn't come. The images in his head, the blood splattering, limbs flailing, all that was paralyzing him, not blacking him out. The first one had been a memory, the stark red and gray of brain matter on the pavement under foot, a woman it had been, walking her dog. She'd gotten in the way of his target fleeing. The dog sat by, nudging her cold, blue hand. From there he'd just imagined that with every person he would meet that night, and soon it was a dance hall full of gore. It terrified him, he terrified himself.

"What's wrong, Bucky? Did you trigger something?"

"My…chest," he gasped starting to shiver as he stared at Banner. "I… can't… breathe… enough."

"Okay, I've got the tranqs," Stark skidded to a stop behind them. "Why isn't he freaking?"

Banner shook his head and waved Stark away. "I don't think it's a psychotic break. Look at him, he's terrified. Bucky. I think you're going to be fine, just try to breathe."

Finally, Bucky couldn't hold himself still anymore and he doubled over gasping for air, quick and shallow, too quickly and too shallowly. His vision was dulling, darkening, as were the images.

"He's hyperventilating," he heard Banner say.

"I'll get him a paper sack."

"Bucky, it's a panic attack. You have to breathe slowly and deeply or you're going to faint."

He heard Dr. Banner, but Bucky couldn't stop. He was crippled by the idea of killing people and not being able to stop himself. His mind wouldn't let him forget, the memories and images just multiplied endlessly. He was damned, irreparably damaged, unforgivable, not worth saving, always a threat.

"Paper sack."

All of a sudden his mouth was covered. He flailed weakly to uncover it, to keep himself from being smothered but then he could almost breathe again.

"You don't have to fight it, Bucky, the bag is helping you."

Banner was right. His vision was clearing, the roaring in his ears was quieting. His mind's eye slowed, focused on something else.

Anything else, Bucky, think of anything else. Dames, licorice, baseball. There, baseball. The time you and Steve snuck into a Met's game and ate roasted peanuts 'til you got the boot.

He could see again. Completely. Banner was hovering, Stark pacing. They were muffled, but he could hear them, too. Banner was coaching him on breathing and focusing on calming things. Stark was ranting about something like wrinkles. Bucky realized he was lying on the floor, probably ruining the suit.

"I'm okay," he said hoarsely into the brown paper sack. Then, he tried to prove it by sitting up.

He was light-headed, but he managed to make it back to his feet. Leaning against the mirror he willed himself to calm down. Turns out, that worked.

"Thanks," he handed the bag back to Banner. "I didn't know what was happening. I thought I was going to black out and go into HYDRA protocol but then I was just… crippled."

"Panic attacks are the best, aren't they?" Stark splayed out on the couch and tossed something in the air. "What set yours off?"

"Me. Seeing me dressed like this." He looked back at Banner. "I can't go tonight. This," he gestured to the suit, "it's a sham. I'm not who I was before. I shouldn't look it. It's dangerous for everyone around me. One wrong word, a reach inside a coat and the killer could be set off, now without a leash or muzzle. It was a nice idea, but-"

"But nothing," Stark interrupted. "You're going and it's going to be great. What you had just then was a panic attack, not a killing spree. You haven't gone off the deep end yet without fighting it. If you can think to fight it, you can warn others, no one gets hurt. I'll bring my handy-dandy tranq gun and we'll be set. Now fix your damn hair, you greaser."

Stark stood up and lobbed the thing he'd been tossing in the air at Bucky. It was a tube of Brylcreem, just like what he'd used before. Bucky studied it for a moment then finally stepped back in front of the mirror. He stood there, torn between his fear and determination. That possibility was terrifying but maybe Stark was right. He was in control. He hadn't snapped without realizing that he was going to since he actually became self-aware and acknowledged he was having a crisis of identity on that helicarrier.

"Tony's right, I think. You've been doing extremely well. In my opinion you'd pass a DID screening. You've distinguished between your identities and consolidated them into one functional personality. We didn't even have to coach you. This'll be the best test of that. How else can we demonstrate to Natasha that you're ready?"

Bucky squeezed a dab of the pomade into his hand and then looked down at Banner in the mirror. "She specified that I manage a trigger episode on my own. I hope Stark doesn't plan on testing that as well tonight."

"No! Definitely not on the itinerary, Peeta. Tonight's just for funsies. Oh, and your therapy, positive reinforcement only. If you just so happen to prove you can coexist with the general population in the process, all the better." Stark disengaged the door and called down the hall for Jenny.

Bucky had rubbed his hands through his hair as he listened, not really thinking about it but remotely aware. He set to combing it in its quiff with more deliberateness. It didn't take long, his muscle memory was good. He turned around a minute later and quietly announced he was ready.

"Well, not quite. You need shoes and a watch. Both are on their way. Ah, hello, Jenny."

Ms. Todd strode back inside with a cart of shoes. She seemed completely unaware that she had possibly been in mortal danger several minutes before.

"Mr. Stark. I brought a few choices, and here are the watches. Just two, I'm afraid."

Stark took the box from her hand and waved a hand. "These'll do, he just needs one for now anyway. Thanks, we'll take it from here."

"Okay, you have my number. I'll pick up the rejects tomorrow at eight. Nice meeting you!" She smiled brightly at Bucky and then left.

"Right, I'm thinking the Breguet."

Bucky looked at the watch in Stark's hand and took a step away. It was a remarkable piece, the nicest looking watch he'd ever seen, maybe item of clothing. He couldn't wear that.

"Oh, I appreciate it, Mr. Stark, but I can't. It's too spiffy for me, I could scuff it and… and on my left-on the unit no one's going to see it anyway."

"A man needs a watch, Bucky," Stark insisted. "Hold out your arm."

"I just… I couldn't wear a pocket watch?"

Stark snorted, "oh, do you want a monocle, too, Colonel Mustard? Give me that arm, you're wearing this. I bought it so you'd put it on your wrist and be able to tell the time."

Bucky shook his head hard and backed away. "No, sir."

"Oh, my god! Are you twelve? Come 'ere, now."

Banner watched the two of them arguing over the watch with a look of sheer exhaustion on his face. Eventually, he just took a pair of shoes from the cart and, after setting them on the floor, wheeled the rest of them and the other watch from the room.

"Good luck with that, Tony. I'm going to take a nap."

"Yeah-huh, yeah, just-" Stark looked away to find Banner and the cart missing. "Where'd-oh, Christ. Bucky, watch. Now." He slapped the timepiece into Bucky's hand and then stormed out. "Bruce! Where'd you take that cart?!"

Bucky missed Natasha and Clint. They wouldn't have made him into a giant doll. They wouldn't have yelled at him about a watch either. He groaned at his own weak will as he slipped the watch over the unit's hand. Such a waste there, but at least this way Stark would hush up about it. Then he sat down and slipped on the shoes Banner had selected for him. Those weren't such a hardship for him. Banner had chosen the simplest pair of the bunch. Bucky appreciated that.

Stark was in a suit of his own, swilling scotch when Bucky finally wandered up to the dining room. He'd never returned to collect Bucky, so Bucky had been completely lost in Stark Tower for an hour and twenty six minutes as the new watch informed him.

"Took you long enough," Stark drawled and then waved an arm behind Bucky. "Maria's been here for a whole scotch already. I was just about to send JARVIS after you."

Bucky ducked his head and backed away from Ms. Hill into the wall, so they were both in his field of vision.

"Ms. Hill," he said towards her toes. She looked nice, or at least Bucky thought that was the case, seeing as he'd only looked at her for a half second before averting his eyes. From her toes, he could tell she was wearing a dress and heels, the heels similar to ones ladies had worn dancing in his day.

"Well, Stark, you've managed to make him even more appealing than yesterday. My compliments. The hair's an improvement once again."

"That was all Bucky," Stark corrected.

"Hmm. Good recall, congrats. I'm glad you invited me, I hardly have a chance to wear anything not a suit anymore, much less a snazzy dress like this. It's exciting."

"Oh, Maria!"

Tony stood and strode quickly to another entrance Bucky didn't know about and came back into view with Ms. Potts in a dress as well.

"You look amazing."

"You too, Pepper. It's weird though, right?'

"No, I think it works for you."

"God," Stark yawned, "it's like spring formal all over again."

Ms. Potts circled the room and caught sight of Bucky. "Hello again, Mr. Barnes. Why don't you join us at the table, right, Tony?"

"Right, yes, right. Come on over, Bucky. Dinner time."

Bucky inched out of his corner and towards the enormous glass table in the middle of the room. He chose a chair across from the rest of them and sat, staring through the table at his shoes.

"Ahem, uh… James-"

"Bucky."

"Thank you, Tony. Bucky, I'm sorry about how we were introduced the other day. I was inconsiderate."

Bucky raised his eyes to meet hers. She was really very lovely, but not at all what he would have imagined Stark with. She seemed too restrained, but maybe that's what let them work.

"Not a problem, ma'am. I'm not someone you want in your home by surprise. I understand."

She pursed her lips and glanced over at Stark who was doing his best impression of someone who was mind-numbingly bored. Ms. Hill was studying Bucky with a careful expression. She was a lot of talk, like Stark, but also like him, it seemed to be a cover for something deeper. She was an ex-SHIELD agent, after all.

"I… hope we can put that behind us, you're obviously doing better. I'm looking forward to tonight! I've not seen big band dance in person before, seems fun." Her tone was forced, but Bucky understood her intentions. She really did feel bad.

"Me too," he replied quietly, wishing it weren't a lie.

The four of them had sat in uncomfortable silence for three minutes and nineteen seconds when Dr. Banner quietly padded inside.

"Oh, did I interrupt something?" He looked up from his notes at the utterly silent room whose occupants were all staring at him in relief.

"Nope! Definitely not. Just stewing in the awkwardness between Buck and Pepper. Please, come. Say words." Stark reached for the decanter on his side board and topped off his scotch as he spoke.

Bucky felt like he'd rather jump out the window than be sitting there. Why didn't Stark and Hill talk? What was happening? Were they testing him? Was the entire evening going to be like this? He suddenly found himself wishing Steve were there, not that he was ever better in social situations than Bucky was but he could have made Bucky better somehow. At least, Bucky remembered seeming better when Steve was around.

"So, when's dinner?" Banner asked.

"Oh, is that what we're doing? I thought we socially mortifying the newly self-aware, world infamous assassin-puppet. If we're having dinner, we should be chatting, don't you guys think?"

Ms. Potts cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable, but Ms. Hill just hid a smile in her scotch.

"Bucky, Bruce, drinks?"

"I'm alright with water, thanks," Bruce folded his hands as he sat down next to Bucky.

"Please," Bucky answered quickly afterward. He knew he couldn't benefit from the dull of alcohol anymore, but there was some comfort in having something to do with his hands and mouth.

Banner glanced around the table and then tapped his water glass a few times. Bucky swirled the amber liquor around but didn't drink from it yet. Hill was still watching him, he could feel her eyes. Stark was staring, bored and mildly peeved at each of them in turn. Ms. Potts was carefully inspecting an invisible scuff on the table top.

Finally, Stark growled and sat forward. "So, you excited about going out tonight, Bucky?" He asked in his most put-on tone.

Bucky almost preferred the silence. "Well, I already told you that I was concerned about the risk I was-"

"Oh my GOD! Change the record, this song's getting old!" Stark stood, head thrown back, and marched towards the door. "I can't handle any more of this. I'm getting dinner."

Dinner was actually very pleasant. Stark came back a minute later, followed by what Bucky figured was a real robot, which was hauling a collection of trays in tow. Turns out, they were having something Bucky actually remembered eating and enjoyed. Steak and potatoes. Really good quality steak.

"That's filet mignon, but yes, essentially it's steak." Stark had responded when Bucky asked.

It was incredible. Bucky, having a difficult time pacing himself, ate all of it, which was a first since coming to Stark Tower. He had no idea steak could be so tender. It basically fell apart in his mouth. Steak he'd known, you'd chewed, a lot. This was delicate and it was covered in some kind of sauce. He didn't even know something could have so many flavors at once. He made sure none of that went to waste either, pushing his potatoes in it, even the vegetables that came in a little bowl on the side.

At some point in between sadly taking his very last bite of steak and carefully painting his potato cubes in the sauce, he heard Ms. Potts laugh quietly. It was possibly the first sound he'd heard from her that wasn't one of discomfort.

"Have you not been feeding him, Tony? Bucky, would you like some more?"

Bucky looked up, mildly mortified that he'd been showing poor table manners, but she was smiling. This one was a genuine smile, half bending her mouth but finding her eyes, and like usual tinged with pity, her head tilted slightly to the side. Despite the pity, Bucky found it comforting and thought she looked much prettier like this. She probably gave Stark that same grin many times a day, judging from their interactions so far.

"Oh, I feed him. He just doesn't like anything good. This is the first thing I've seen him really eat. I was beginning to think the super serum's metabolism boost wasn't something he'd gotten from his version and he just fed off his self-loathing."

Ms. Potts looked away from Bucky, the grin dropping immediately. Stark wasn't fazed. He must have gotten that same look just as many times a day.

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Bucky said quickly, "but I don't want to be any trouble-"

"No, no. Trust me, _this_ is not a big deal." She pushed away from the table, still looking at Stark as if they were sharing in some unspoken conversation, and then walked towards the door. "I'll be right back."

"I think you're growing on her, gramps. Good job with the pity party." Stark commented as soon as the door had closed behind Ms. Potts. He was smiling. Bucky found it disconcerting. "I should have brought my tiny violin."

"Are you really this polite, Barnes, or is it an act?" Hill asked casually. It didn't sound accusatory, but it was hard for Bucky to take that phrasing any other way.

Luckily, Stark answered for him. "No, he really has that manners stick up his ass. All his 'ma'am's and quiet suffering, that's real. Cap grew out of that quick. I can't believe I'm using _him_ as an example... Anyway, it's getting old, if you ask me. "

"Just because you're an uncouth heathen in some ways, Tony, doesn't mean that other people can't be a little more refined in their treatment of others," Banner reminded him. He didn't even look up from his plate has he commented. "Oh, I just remembered, my geneticist friend, Hen, he's received the samples and has started processing them. Said they were good quality, unbelievable resilience actually, which isn't surprising to us, but he was having a field day with them."

"What's this?" Hill chimed in.

"Bruce has a geneticist friend from his days being a respectable, non-mutated ninja turtle scientist who's processing some stem cells from Buck-a-million and engineering tissue grafts for his new arm."

"Oh, exciting," Hill responded, looking at Bucky's left side, the unit hidden except for the hand peeking out of the sleeve, which he quickly tucked on his lap. "So, no more bad ass metal arm, huh?"

"Uh… it'll still be bad ass," Stark answered defensively, "it'll be super bad ass. I'm making it. Duh. But, it'll be more inconspicuous. And discreet."

"Oh-ho!" Hill broke into labored laughter and Stark's self-contented smirk melted away. "Because inconspicuous and discreet is what you majored in, Stark! That's hilarious. Like you could do anything that didn't scream, 'I'm Stark Tech! I'm fabulous!'" She fell into unintelligible, laugh-garbled mutters.

Stark was genuinely insulted. "I can be discreet!"

"Admittedly, Tony, operating under the radar is not generally your modus operandi," Banner told him gently. "Fury once found you eating donuts, in a giant donut, in your Iron Man suit. Not really inconspicuous."

"That, and the fact that every single thing you've ever manufactured has a big label reading 'Stark Industries' on it. Are you telling me that Bucky's new arm won't be tattooed with the same tag?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you. It will just look like an arm. I don't need credit for every single thing I do."

"You do seem to thrive off affirmation, though."

As was coming to be a habit, Bucky found himself regretting his last wish. The talking wasn't any better. With Stark's entourage, it was either constant ridicule, or being ignored. Banner's attempts otherwise were essentially futile. He really missed Natasha and Clint.


	16. 16

Ms. Hill was not the person Bucky had evaluated her to be from that first encounter. She was truly an agent: responses unreadable, always aware, just a bit more of a wiseacre than other professionals, like say, Natasha. Or maybe Natasha just hadn't opened that side up to him. At any rate, he had underestimated Ms. Hill. This caught up to him in the car.

"You still having doubts about controlling your alter-ego?" She asked casually as Stark and Ms. Potts bickered about the radio station.

Bucky had been unconsciously pulling his coat sleeve down further over his unit's hand. She nodded to this and then quirked her eyebrow at him.

"You can't make it go away by hiding it. I'm sure you knew that already, though, so you're fiddling out your nervous energy, which just happens to focalize on what you're most insecure about. Since your arm _itself_ isn't dangerous, on its own, I'm guessing it's the assassin it belongs to you're fretting over."

He cleared his throat and slipped the unit into his pocket. "Yes, ma'am."

"Yeah, it'll be fine. I've seen worse." She smiled, not the brash grin that accompanied her earlier comments, but something easier. "You should know though, I'm a horrible dancer."

Bucky could feel himself growing bashful, "I'm sure you're not. Pretty dame like yourself, sure to have danced plenty of times."

She laughed, "not really how things work anymore, Bucky. Though, I think I wish they were, from the sound of you." Ms. Hill leaned forward and tapped Ms. Potts' shoulder. "D'you hear that? He called me a dame."

"A pretty dame, yes, I heard. It's cute, don't you think, Tony?" Ms. Potts turned to flash a smile at Bucky and then patted Stark on the leg. She was really much more pleasant now that she was relaxed.

"Oh, he's as charming as ninety-eight year old can be. Now, let's see how good a dancer he actually is." Stark commented off-hand, although he clearly was challenging Bucky.

The car pulled to a stop and they all piled out in front of a large barn-shaped building. From the music spilling out even into the parking lot, Bucky could tell this was the right place. If it weren't for the strange assortment of automobiles outside, he would have almost thought he was back at home as they walked inside.

The dance hall didn't have a live band like Bucky was used to, but the kits were on stage, as if it could at some point. The floor was larger than ones he remembered and the lighting was nicer but it was all familiar. The song playing as they entered was even one that he recognized, although he couldn't find a name for it or its artist. It came with some happy memories.

He half-laughed at the thought of teaching Steve to lead on this one in a gymnasium and then turned to Ms. Hill. "Care for a dance?"

She chuckled and nodded, taking his proffered hand. "Okay, let's hope I don't step on your feet."

"Oh, it wouldn't be the first time." He replied, leading her out to an open space on the floor. "Good, alright. You _can_ dance. You've found the beat."

Ms. Hill rolled her eyes, "that's just the beat. Now the steps." She watched Stark and Ms. Potts saunter past, already moving on to the actual swinging moves. "I _cannot_ do that."

"We'll get there. Step out. Now in. Good. I'll spin you, keep that step." Bucky remembered dancing very well, it was like breathing. He must have done it frequently.

Ms. Hill was better than she let on. Bucky actually suspected that she knew how to dance and was just pretending she couldn't to make him feel needed, or something like that. They were on to triple-time and several more advanced spins within a few songs. Without noticing it, he had started having fun. Ms. Hill was laughing, Stark and Ms. Potts were smiling like he hadn't seen, at least not at the same time, and he felt relaxed.

When the live band came out, Bucky forgot that he was supposed to be miserable and threw caution to the wind.

"D'you wanna try a real swing?" He shouted over the brass. Stark and Ms. Potts swung closer as Ms. Hill contemplated that offer.

"Oh, you should," Ms. Potts beamed, clearly having a great time. Stark was sweating a bit but she looked like she was glowing. "I want to see that. We're not there."

Stark spun her and dramatically shook his head at Bucky. "No, we'll never be there. I'm not getting younger, but I bet Buck-o can."

Ms. Hill finally nodded, "alright, let's try it," she said with a big breath.

"Just keep your body tensed," he said and then, picking up the tune more carefully, called out, "lady swingin'!"

The floor cleared a bit, he spun her out and then pulled her back in again, lifting her by the waist and swinging her around his. It was easier than he remembered, probably the super strength. She landed again to some cheers and claps, laughing.

"That was incredible!"

Bucky allowed a small smile, "with more practice I could even flip you." They spun around the floor, kicks and all as the band wound up the tune. Ms. Hill was still laughing when the music stopped.

"Man, that is… I don't know how you did this for a whole evening," Stark stepped over with Ms. Potts. "I'm wiped."

Bucky nodded, not winded in the slightest. "You have breaks, get the ladies some drinks, have a slow stepper." He took Ms. Hill by the waist as he waited for the band to start up a slower tune.

"Well, we're doing that. Martini, Pepper?"

"Yes, please." She followed Stark off the dance floor and towards the beverage table.

Bucky took a second to actually look Ms. Hill in the eye. "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh no, more of the flying. Always." She was grinning even as she answered. "That was… maybe the most fun I've ever had in public."

Bucky decided not to read into that and just bobbed his head. "I'm glad."

The band cued up, but instead of a slower dance, the cymbals rang out in triple time. "Let's see some jitterbugs," the band leader called and the trumpet flared up, quick and erratic.

It was a faster dance, one with more instruments than Bucky was used to, more take-off melodies. He could dance to it just fine, but it was unfamiliar. Kicks, spins, another kick, twirling Ms. Hill out, then back in. The music was jarring, though. Something felt off about it, made his mind wander.

"Are you alright?" Ms. Hill shouted on an in-spin.

Bucky snapped out of his little zone out and nodded. He was alright, but something was different. The music built to a swell with raucous solos from a saxophone and trumpet dueling. He didn't really see what he was doing anymore, but his limbs kept up with the music. He was focused on something else, a memory trying to come back to him. Swing, spin, kick, then spin. What was it? There was something urgent about remembering this particular thing. Something about the song? No.

It wasn't coming to him. He thought harder and found himself in the middle of a room, dimmed with loud noises, alone. He was ringed by people, he couldn't see their faces. Kicking, spinning, they moved too fast to see their eyes. He lunged for one, that one had a knife. He dodged it and their kick.

"Bucky!" He recognized that, that name. Maybe the voice, too, but that knife. They were talking to him, quickly but he couldn't understand their language. Just had to dodge them and kill them before they killed him. He couldn't make impact, part of him was unresponsive, sluggish, his opponents too fast and lithe.

Suddenly he heard a shrill ringing, people shouting and movement past him. He spun to find the source of the noise. Nothing. Just movement he couldn't focus on. Then his left side went damp, his arm was swinging useless at his side. Then impact. Not him, one of them took out his right knee, sharp and hard. It collapsed under him with a crack.

Then a familiar sensation caught him around the wrists. _That's a mag-cuff, you went off the rails._ A little voice in the corner of his mind said. He'd been ignoring its urgent mutterings.

A mag-cuff. His enemies didn't cuff him, they tried to kill him.

_Enemies, you idiot, you went dancing with enemies?_

He could see again. He was on a dance floor, an empty dance floor. A fire alarm was blaring out above. His unit sizzled with the small EMP disk attached to it through the suit. Hill stood in front of him, a gun trained on his forehead, the smile gone. Stark was a few paces behind, panting. Ms. Potts was nowhere to be seen.

He'd blacked out.

Bucky felt his mind reel. Whipping towards Stark, he asked, "is everyone safe?"

Ms. Hill visibly relaxed, dropped her aim from him and holstered her pistol under her skirt. Stark walked over and powered down the EMP.

"Yeah, everyone's safe. Hill noticed your pupils disappear and we got the fire alarm on in time. Pepper's outside making up some excuse. We're good." He switched off the mag-cuff as well and helped Bucky to his feet.

"What happened, man?"

Bucky shook his head. He wasn't sure, something had just started niggling him in the back of his head and then suddenly he'd lost control.

"A memory? Maybe a protocol trigger. I'm not sure."

Stark sighed and clapped him on the back. "Well, I think that's enough for tonight. Don't you?"

"Yes," Bucky answered sadly. He hated being right. It made his failure even worse somehow.

Stark and company were silent on the drive home. It made Bucky feel like the asset again, no one speaking around him. He was dangerous, better not set him off.

"I'm sorry," he finally broke the silence morosely.

"Don't start that self-effacing crap. Apology accepted, we knew it was a risk, but we were ready. And for the love of all that is holy in this world, do not go off into this pity pit of depression. Bruce will be crushed if you lose progress because of his idea."

Bucky sighed.

Stark started back up again at the sound, "AND don't say that you warned us. That's just obnoxious."

He had warned them, though. At this point, however, that wasn't what he was focusing on. He was incredibly disappointed in himself. It seems he too had been hoping this night would be a success. Maybe that's why he'd been so nervous, because he'd had expectations of himself. What a disappointment.

"I still had a good time," Ms. Hill said consolingly as they got out of the car at Stark Tower. "That swing will go down in the annals as the most fun I've had out in public, Barnes. Promise." She winked at him and then strutted off to her car. She was remarkably chipper for having just been forced to break her dance partner's knee because he'd tried to kill her.

He had a slight limp but field time had taught him how to set his broken limbs and his super serum anatomy helped him heal too quickly, so he was still able to walk on that broken knee. It was the limping that Banner first saw as he came around the corner to find Stark escorting Bucky to his cell.

"What in the world happened?" He asked, pen falling out of his mouth.

Bucky chose not to respond. Stark would do so better for the both of them.

"Hill broke his knee. Turns out he not actually invincible." The weak chuckled that followed did nothing but assure Banner that something was wrong, not humorous.

"I'll repeat, what happened?" He followed them into Bucky's armor plated room. "Why did she break his knee?"

"Mr. Hyde came out to play. Still not quite sure why. Dr. Jekyll was having a grand ole time before that." Stark eyed Bucky again, as if to try to find the busted wire that shorted out the whole thing.

"Oh. That's too bad. I suppose we should have… oh, I don't know. I'm sorry, Bucky. I know how upset you must be that we made you do this. Maybe it was just too soon."

"No." He surprised even himself with that response.

"No?"

"It was my fault. I didn't focus like I should have. Something tugged on my mind and instead of letting it go, I tugged back. Turns out, it unraveled the whole thing." He winced as he sat down. She'd really broken it.

"Well, that's good you figured that out, at least," Stark offered. "Live and learn. That's how I survive. And no one got hurt, no one even knew that something was wrong, except that there might be a fire."

Banner breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. We can move on then, continue-"

"No." Bucky shook his head. "I'm not ready to move on. I need to stay in here, with the world protected from me for a while. Until I can tug and not unravel or learn not to meddle." He turned over on his side, ignoring Stark hissing about the suit, and closed his eyes. He wanted to be left alone, to punish himself, if he were honest.

Banner was having none of that. "Okay, we can stay indoors for a while. Test your triggers in a controlled space. But I don't think stopping therapy is going to help, or punishing yourself in here. Come on out for a while, something came while you all were out. Natasha sent some things over for you."

Bucky's gut leapt but he stayed where he was.

"Fine. Punish yourself, but your surprise will still be waiting for you tomorrow." Banner sounded disappointed as he left the room. Stark didn't even say anything as he shut the door. He must have been really upset.


	17. 17

Bucky stayed in his bed for four hours after the air-dispersed tranquilizers wore off, as his watch told him. He was still in the suit and it was, as Stark had fretted, horribly wrinkled. Eventually, because the guilt about ruining the suit was nagging him, he got up to change into his original shirt and pants from Natasha's. He found that these had been laundered at some point. He laid back down after that, determined not to move again. He ignored the hunger when it came, the thirst, everything. He just mulled over what it was that had lured him into a blackout the night before.

He didn't respond when JARVIS offered him a variety of things, or even when the door unsealed on its own. He stayed stationary, staring at the opposite wall, the unit smothered underneath him.

"Man, you are one stubborn old ass, you know that, Buck? Making me wait like twelve hours because you're upset about an episode. Swear to god."

It was Clint. That finally made Bucky roll over.

"Barton?"

"One and the same. You tired of these geeks yet? Huh? See? I had a great line all set up and I had to come to you to deliver it, much less satisfying." Clint shoved Bucky's legs out of the way and sat down on the bed. "You gotta get out of this room, man. It is dreary. Like a fucking prison."

"That's the point," Bucky mumbled.

"Wow, Stark wasn't kidding about the sulk-fest. You are depressed, that's what this is. Gotta get you out of here." He shoved Bucky again, this time moving his legs off the side of the bed.

Completely unconcerned with it, Bucky let his legs slide off the edge and take the rest of him with them. He lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as if he had put himself there.

"Seriously?" Clint's face appeared over the side of the bed. "No rage flip out? You're just going to lie there, like a wet noodle. Okay, it's official... He's broken."

He disappeared for a few minutes and Bucky assumed that he had given up on him and left. But then he came barging back in and threw something heavy down on the bed. Bucky didn't care enough to investigate.

"Okay, Buck, look. I came all this way, dealt with all the assholery that is Stark to bring you this, so here. I've brought it. It's your stuff." Clint sat down on the bed next to what Bucky assumed was his cardboard Bucky box and started rifling through it. "Look, your smiling face. Wow, that's something I've never seen."

Bucky blinked up at the photograph. He did like that photograph, Steve looked so happy.

"And there. Another one, oh, Coney Island. And here's your mom's ring, and this… looks like a single, left shoe, weird, but to each his own. Okay, okay, here we have a shirt," Clint held that up too then sniffed it. "Oh, wow has not been washed since worn, whew. And, cool, a flask. There take that."

He dropped a bunch of items onto Bucky's chest. Some bounced off but a few just settled on top of him.

"Buttons, one, two, three buttons. What are all these buttons from? You bust out of your uniform? Alright, and a medal. Nice. Here. Take that, you earned it." He stuck the medal onto Bucky's chest and sat up, wearing the helmet from the box. "Good. You have your things now. Feel better."

"You're not very good at this," Bucky muttered a few seconds later once Clint's stare became uncomfortable. "You can't just tell someone to feel better and expect it to happen."

"Oh, I know. I just thought I'd throw it out there as a last resort since you won't cooperate with any of my other attempts. If I don't get you out, Stark and Banner are threatening to literally haul you out, with EMP, cuffs, robots, everything. They're… well, _we're_ kind of concerned. Looks like for good reason."

"I feel lost," Bucky admitted. It was more than just depression. He'd been depressed before, war could do that to a man quickly. This was more than that.

"Okay. We can work on that."

"I don't fit in."

"That's work-on-able too."

"I'm confused, and conflicted. I don't really expect to belong, even when I look normal. I'm too damaged."

Clint nodded along. "I know the feeling. It's not absolute though."

"I can't be cured. This therapy is a waste of time. As much as I want to be, I know now that I'm not just Bucky. Pre… _this_ Bucky." He jerked his chin to the unit.

"We didn't expect you to be. You can't be." Clint finally gave in and slipped to the floor to be on level with him. "You never step in the same river twice, man. Shit changes. So do you. You just… you just have to learn to be what you can be. Find a place in between both your selves. You can't get rid of either, trust me I've tried, but now with some time to reflect, I don't think I'd want to forget my 'lost days.' I've changed for the better learning from them. You'll find your compromise and you'll figure out the world, then you can join us. We're a bunch of freaks and misfits, too, Nat and Stark and Banner and I. Hill, too. But we save people. It's... neat. I'm surprised Banner hasn't told you that already."

Bucky sighed deeply. Clint's words hit home, as usual. He might feel better. "He probably has, Banner I mean. I just didn't understand the words he was using. He speaks like Stark but with bigger words and less jokes."

"Geeks, man. Wanna watch some movies, work on the figuring out the world part?"

Bucky weighed his options for a few beats and then nodded.

"Groovy. We're starting with the Godfather. Turns out, you were actually around for the American Film Institutes' number one film of all time."

"Oh, really? What was that?"

Clint grabbed Bucky's unit and attempted to haul him upright. "Citizen Kane."

"Really? I saw that in the theater. It was alright."

That made Clint laugh. "Oh, so we're going to be a hard sell, huh? This'll be good. Well, after that we're abandoning the critics' choice and moving onto Mel Brooks films, because you can't live your life without appreciating the comedy that is _Young Frankenstein_, or anything with Gene Wilder in it."

Stark's movie room, which was a concept Bucky had a hard time understanding on its own, was immense. It was bigger than the theaters Bucky had seen pictures in back in the day. It also had more films, in smaller storage cases, on clearer, bigger screens than he could fathom. It was a shock, to say the least.

"You all A-Okay, Buck?" Clint asked as he was skimming the bookcase shelves of films. "Yeah, most people don't have this, just so you know."

"This is a television?" He asked standing in front of the opposing wall.

Clint turned around and answered with a chuckle, "oh, yeah. Most people don't have that either. Stark made that special, for himself. I don't think he even put it out for production. It's great for Call of Duty, oh, we'll do that tomorrow!"

Bucky backed away from the screen just trying to take in the enormity of it. And it was in color. Part of him was worried it would hurt his eyes. "Where are the speakers? Where are the tubes? How does it work?"

"Oh, uh, speakers are surround sound docked in the walls and ceiling. Um…" he jumped off the ladder with a couple of small film containers, "no tubes. TVs are made differently now, I'm not the one to ask about 'em though. I just watch 'em."

He strolled to a panel in the wall and pushed something and then opened the film container, except there wasn't film inside. It was a little silvery disc. Bucky edged up behind him, staring gobsmacked.

"Where's the film?"

"It's on here, this is a DVD, uh, Stark doesn't endorse Blu-ray for some reason, I guess. I don't know. It has the movie on it, read by a laser or something."

Bucky stumbled backwards until he fell onto the couch. That did it, he was amazed.

"If that's got you shocked, you're in for a big surprise." Clint sat down a few feet away and adjusted a panel on the arm of the couch. The lights lowered and the television, as big as he had worried, flashed on. He was right, it did hurt his eyes. Then the screen went black and the picture began.

Clint had not been joking about the surprise. The picture was something else. The color was a shock that he had expected, the gory violence was not. He was astonished that they allowed that in the cinemas, the horse head, and the language. He had heard profanities, but on a picture, in that number of curses and slurs, it was daunting.

"So, what'd you think?" Clint asked as soon as the credits started rolling.

Bucky frowned for a second. He thought a lot about it. "I'm glad it didn't trigger anything," he chose finally.

"Yeah," Clint scoffed, "hadn't thought about that, it was pretty violent. Me too."

'Pretty violent' seemed like an understatement to Bucky. He looked down at his hands. But then again, compared to what he'd actually seen, actually done, the film was mild. That made him a little nauseous. He wondered what Steve would think about it, if he'd already seen it. He could imagine sitting through a picture like that with Steve, him squirming uncomfortably, hoping women and children wouldn't have to see or hear any of it. It made Bucky swallow a small grin.

"Hey-o, how was the _Godfather_, Rocky and Bulwinkle?" Stark sauntered in, bowl of popcorn in hand. "And what's up next, I've brought snacks and fellow movie-goers."

Banner and Ms. Potts edged in behind Stark, both with food, Banner chipper and Ms. Potts wary but smiling. "How're we today, Bucky? Feeling better?"

Bucky scooted along the couch until he was at the edge. The thought of them sandwiching him between them made him anxious. As it happened though, they seemed to have anticipated that and each sat a fair distance from him, Stark and Ms. Potts even taking their seats on a smaller couch he hadn't noticed before.

"Well enough, thank you, Doctor." Bucky was having a hard time making eye contact with any of them. Part of the reason he'd submitted to Clint's badgering was so that he could avoid Stark and Banner. The offer of a film made that even more appealing, less talking, no eye contact. Somehow that had been wrongly assumed. Things had changed a lot.

"Well, we're just glad you got out of your bed."

"Yeah, moping in bed all day is not productive, whereas catching up on seven decades of culture is. Movies. _Godfather_. Good, bad, indifferent towards it? Go." Stark stared, then he kept staring.

"Uh, it was a lot all at once. Very… different from what I expect from films."

Stark hopped up, setting the popcorn on Ms. Potts lap and jogged over to his film shelves. 'Yeah, uh-huh, coulda figured that. Actually, I did, didn't I, Mr. Loxley?

Clint shook his head and crossed his arms. "It's a classic. We had _Young Frankenstein_ on deck. But, if you have suggestions, by all means, Buck needs to catch up."

"JARVIS, take note. We're putting together a watch list for Tabula Rasa. Numero Uno _Young Frankenstein_, which I endorse. My suggestions are… here let's see." Stark started pulling film cases, "_Pulp Fiction_, Quentin Taratino's best in my opinion, a bit on the absurd side, but got a lot of culture in it, plus, I'm still not convinced that's not Fury. Ah, here, _Shawshank Redemption_, awesome. Just awesome, must see. Three: is actually three movies, _Star Wars_, the original trilogy. You're not ready for the new ones. And you can't live in this century without having seen _Star Wars,_ life will be so much more rewarding once you have. Oh, also _Fight Club_."

He marched over to Clint and dropped the cases beside him on the couch.

"Uh, how about _Schindler's List_," Banner offered, Stark retrieved. "Also _It's a Wonderful Life_, The Green Mile, and absolute must-see _Raiders of the Lost Ark_."

"Depressing, depressing, depressing, awesome, but I see your point Bruce."

"No, they're thoughtful," Ms. Potts piped up, "I agree. Put down _Forrest Gump_, _To Kill a Mockingbird_, and… well, Hitchcock films, any Hitchcock film, but I especially like _North by Northwest_."

"Can't argue with the lady," Stark hustled around fetching those films as well. "You know what I just thought of? _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_, life changing."

"I second that one," Clint chimed in.

"For this one, it might be a little much, but he might also totally get the tech jadedness, so _2001: A Space Odyssey_."

Banner and Ms. Potts nodded along. Clint seemed nonplussed. "You can watch that with him, it's not for me. Hal creeps me out beyond anything."

"Oh! And, and, and, _Die Hard_! _The Sixth Sense_! _Donny Darko_! _Annie Hall_! _Terminator_! There are too many." Stark dumped another pile on the couch. It was becoming formidable.

"_The King's Speech_? More recent, but I really liked it," Ms. Potts added.

"_The Lord of the Rings_? Has someone said that already?" Banner squinted over his glasses at the shelves, then stood up and joined Stark in collecting them.

"Get _Titanic_, too. Oh, and _The Graduate_. All that Simon and Garfunkel, pretty nice. Plus, it'll be a musical education bit, too." Ms. Potts was getting into this as well. She and Stark did have something in common.

"_Harry Potter_!" Stark crowed.

"Mm-hmm, _Roman Holiday_ and _A Christmas Story_ should be on there. Goodness, what are we up to?" Banner stacked his movies on the couch and then began putting the others in stacks as well.

"_Jurassic Park_! You've got to see it, just for the animatronics. They were flipping fantastic. And _The Wrath of Khan_, though maybe not until after you've seen the show. Can't go without _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_." Stark turned around with his additions and then frowned at the stacks Banner had made. "Someone stop me."

Ms. Potts chuckled, and setting down the popcorn, padded over to Stark. "Come on, Tony. Thirty-nine is much too much already for Bucky. Just put them down. Shh, shh. Let's go." She grabbed him by arm, threading her own through his, and then guided him back to the couch.

"I agree with Pepper," Banner said, "we have to narrow this down. It'll be a pop culture overload. Maybe space it out over a few days."

"Ya think?" Clint scoffed, looking over to where Bucky was silently observing them. "I mean, look at Buck over there. You've overwhelmed him just by listing off the movies, oh, and your very big personalities."

Bucky was grateful they stopped. Sometimes, even though they weren't speaking to him, just hearing them chatter was stressful. He needed peace and quiet. He'd been frozen for the greater part of the century, after all. He had a saturation level.

"Yeah, okay. So, we narrow it down to… let's say five? And choose the most influential for today, but a good genre variety. My vote's for _Star Wars_, or _Raiders_, who can say no to Nazis getting their faces melted off?" Stark waggled his eyebrows at Bucky and smiled. Admittedly, Bucky had perked up at the description. He knew who the Nazis were.

"I think we have a Bucky vote for _Raiders_," Stark nodded at Clint, tossing his arm around Ms. Potts. "Other votes?"

"Sir?" JARVIS interrupted, "you have a call."

"Well, tell 'em I'm busy."

"Sir, it's urgent."

'Oh, yeah? Who is it?"

"I suggest you take this call privately, sir."

Stark clenched his jaw but stood, pulling one of his tiny telephones from his pocket. "This is Stark." He paused, listening carefully to whoever was speaking. He checked around, found Bucky, and the others, watching him carefully and put on his bravado. "Well, yeah, of course I can, Boss Bravo. But who says I want to?"

Banner cleared his throat over on the couch. "Other suggestions, guys?"

"I think a comedy would be good for Buck," Clint responded.

"My vote's for _Forrest Gump_. There's a lot of history crowded in there." Pepper was distracted, watching Stark, but she was good at not seeming it.

Bucky was just listening to Stark.

"My servers are secure, sure, but it's nothing like what you're asking for, and I'm not going to be SHIELD 2.0. Sorry. You can use it to store, but I'm not allowing you full access. I'm allowed some privacy- what? No. I mean, yes, he's with me but that's because Romanoff sent him and what do you really need an archer for- uh, none of your business. If you needed to know, you'd know. Okay, Spangles. Yeah, have a jolly good time with your fine, feathered friend. Yeah-huh. Well, I could do that. I mean, it's my tech. Yeah, you got it. Ohio. Done. Ta ta to you, too."

Stark nodded at Bucky as he walked back to the couch. "You guys make a decision?"

"We're thinking _Raiders, Star Wars_, just _Episode Four_, _Monty Python_, and _Forrest Gump_, then let poor Bucky get some rest." Banner set out the four film containers and smiled at Bucky. "Sound good?"

But Bucky wasn't really paying any attention. "Who was that, Mr. Stark?"

"Oh, you know, someone demanding something from me. Nothing special. Just sensitive information." He sat down on the couch and put his arm back around Ms. Potts. "Movie time? Anyone want snacks?"

By the time the final film's credits rolled, Bucky was truly exhausted. He had experienced a full range of emotions that day, and learned quite a lot. His brain was inundated. The final picture, _Forrest Gump_ had raised quite a few questions, but he only asked one.

"What of that was true?"

His audience exchanged some glances. Banner was the one who opted to speak. "The main character wasn't real, he was a character. The writers made him a device through which to experience all those big historical moment. Those did happen, the Vietnam War, Elvis Presley, John Lennon, JFK's assassination, all that was real."

Bucky chewed on his lip. He knew about the last one already, that was how he figured this wasn't pure fiction. "I see. Thank you, all. I'm ready to bunk down now."

"Aw, little guy's had a big day. Night, slugger."

Bucky turned to eye Stark as he passed.

"Tomorrow, we're playing video games, Buck! Prepare yourself for that!" Clint shouted after him.

They kept talking after he left. He could hear them down the hall for some way.

"Did he eat at all today?"

"Nope."

"That's pretty standard for depression."

"Goddamn, you guys fucked him up yesterday. He was eating like a teenager with Nat and me."

"Well, if someone could have kept it in her pants we wouldn't be in this position, would we?"

"Tony…"

"It's true. If I'd screwed something up like that you all would be way down my throat, but no, Romanoff gets all in a tizzy and everyone else smooths things over."

"Was it who I think on the phone, Tony?"

"Yeah, wanted some help finding him. Remind me again why we don't let our two super-soldier-cicles have their gushy reunion."

"You know why, Stark."

"We all do, it's because it's very strategically important that they are friends when they finally reunite, but have we considered what keeping them separated is risking?"

"You mean the epicness that would be their cage match?"

"No, Tony, I mean, why is it so dangerous for Bucky to have a past? Incident or not, I think it's time he was allowed to be a full person. He's searching for something anchor onto, something that involves both of his selves so he can work through the internal conflict. His bond with Rogers is obviously very, very strong. I dunno, I think we're hurting more than helping by keeping them apart."

"Nat was on the verge of that too, when she heard about the dance hall mess. She wanted me to bring him back, but then we heard about the surgery. Are you sure about that?"

"It's going to be great. Promise."

"Oh, the graft's almost finished."

"What? That's great, the Extremis must be working like-"

Bucky finally stepped out of hearing range. Part of him was furious, being left out of his own life decisions and being lied to about it. How was that different from HYDRA? But then again, he was, like Stark had said when he first got there, basically an overgrown infant. Bucky could physically defend himself, but he was helpless in this new century. He had so many things to learn still if he wanted to live as anything other than a thieving homeless person. He needed allies, help, and in their own way, that's what they thought they were giving him by keeping him secret. Although, Banner seemed uncertain. Faced with that situation, with all the variables they knew, Bucky wasn't sure he could make a decision and feel confident about it.

As he stepped into his room, he decided to trust them, which was hard. Yes, he would trust them, but that didn't mean he wouldn't confront them. He would ask Clint in the morning, during these video games he'd mentioned. He just hoped Steve was alright in the meantime.


	18. 18

Bucky left his room as soon as the tranquilizers wore off the next morning. He got dressed, asked JARVIS-rather uncertainly-where he could do some research, and then headed to the designated location. Stark, despite all his technological preference, still was ostentatious enough to keep a library.

That was where Bucky hid himself for most of the day. He had some catching up to do, which that film the night before had alerted him to. He also wanted to check a little deeper into the people he was reliant upon. He soon discovered that the world was an ugly place, like Stark had said, and not just because Bucky-as-Winter-Soldier had killed his father. He didn't think that Stark knew that. There was no way he would have treated him with this kind of hospitality if he did. He wasn't that bitter towards Howard, or that forgiving. No, the ugliness of the world went beyond that, wars, deaths, diseases, starvation, slavery, and a good deal of that he, Bucky, appeared to be responsible for, if not directly, at least as the one who tipped over the first domino.

Some good things had happened too, going to the moon, incredible, cures for so many diseases, and many men and women being genuinely good. It wasn't all dark and dank, but what was, really was rotten. The attack on New York was worse than Bucky had imagined. Stark's personal archives had footage Bucky hadn't seen. It was gruesome, the sheer destruction. The people he knew, they were remarkable though. Stark's suit was as amazing as it was made out to be, Banner was unstoppable, Barton and Natasha eye-openingly exposed but fearless and effective. Steve, too. Though Steve was what Bucky expected, totally up to par. He'd seen him in action before, a leader, resilient and selfless. No, Steve was the same.

Then he saw less incredible things. He found himself, on news reels, in personal accounts, on that bridge trying to kill Steve and Natasha. He was harrowing, and unrecognizable. SHIELD had been dumped onto the public, all their secrets, all HYDRA's, and that meant even more of Bucky's sordid past. He needed to read it, to see, to find out all these things from the mass perspective, but it was a harsh indoctrination. It hurt.

He was glad when Clint finally found him.

"What the fuck, man? We've been looking all over for you, JARVIS was being purposefully unhelpful. We have video games to play. What're you doing in here anyways?"

"Learning," Bucky answered. "As that film last night made clear, I had some things to catch up on."

"Yeah, a lot has happened since you were brainwashed, including the invention of incredibly realistic first person shooter games, so come on."

"First person shooter?" Bucky came to a halt and Clint was unable to budge him. He didn't like the sound of that. "What is that?"

"It's where you play as though you're the one shooting stuff, with a gun. It's great."

"I disagree. I think it'll trigger me." Bucky shook him off and crossed his arms.

"No, no, no. That's the beauty of it, Banner's going to monitor with wires and shit and it'll be a control test. If you hulk out we'll know and then we can try to fix that trigger. Plus, we want you to be action ready at some point, you gotta be able to be around this stuff to do that, I mean, if you want to help out."

Bucky relaxed. Clint had a point and it seemed like a good idea, with the controlled settings.

"Thank you for being honest," he said, walking on. "I did not appreciate the secrecy last night. I can handle knowing that Rogers is looking for me without having a mental breakdown." He said it nonchalantly but the thought was painful.

"You heard that, huh? I thought you might with your super…ness. Sorry. Spies tend to be secretive out of habit, for safety's sake. Nat was all for telling you when I'd brought you back. She's been having second thoughts, I think we all have. It's kind of an unprecedented situation. Mostly."

He led Bucky down the hall and into the elevator. They were going back to the cinema room.

"See, we've had brainwashing and we've operated as a team, but not really dealt with both at the same time. And now, with our support system in the wind, we're kind of having to make it up as we go and that doesn't tend to go smoothly. I mean, we're just barely a functioning team. There are… a lot of conflicting points of view."

Bucky nodded. He'd seen that. He had a hard time imagining Steve and Stark working together. If it weren't for the footage, he might not have believed it. He supposed that was the result of the world being threatened. Now, when it was just one unbalanced potential asset in a sea of uncertainty about leadership, it was understandable that there would be some oversights, some contention.

"Anyways, surgery tomorrow. Tell me, you really want that? Stark isn't forcing you to do it? Peer pressure or something?"

Bucky thought about it, stepping from the elevator. He had wanted it, like he hadn't wanted anything in a long time. But now, he was unsure. Maybe it wasn't a good idea.

"I did, I mean, I chose to do it. What do you think about it?"

"I don't know, it's a big decision, man. I just wanted to make sure you weren't being changed against your will again. That's all. I will say, I'm going to miss the bad ass metal look. It's just so bad ass." They stepped into the theater and found a completely different atmosphere.

Stark and Banner were seated on the couch, Stark with a small… thing in his hand, a bit like a comptroller Bucky thought, but nothing he recognized, and the screen full of animated death. Banner was reading or something, commented occasionally on Stark's performance.

"God damn it! Stupid." Stark was half way to hurling his device at the door when he caught sight of them. "Oh. Hey, you found him."

"Yeah, he was in your library. Literally the last place I looked," Clint snorted and gently pushed Bucky towards the couch.

"My library? Seriously? What in the world were you doing in there?"

"He was researching," Clint responded for him, handing him his own device in the process.

"What's this?" Bucky asked.

"A controller," Clint said and then sat down beside him. "You play the game on it."

"Yeah, I rigged yours up special this morning, titanium enforced in case you, you know, go blood rage on it. Please try not to though. It's one of a kind. Anyway, you do know that you can look stuff up on any of the literally hundreds of computer consoles in this building. You didn't have to go to the library."

"Computer's aren't really my thing, Mr. Stark," Bucky replied, weighing the 'controller' in his hand. It was easy to hold, but he still didn't know what to do with it. "And the buttons?"

"Oh, we'll explain that soon enough, Geezer. Bruce, you in?" Stark asked as Banner stood up and started collecting some supplies off the couch beside him.

"No, games are... not really my thing, as Bucky said. I'll just be monitoring."

Bucky noticed, as Banner removed the pads and instruments, that there were a few extra things beside him. A gun, a EMP disk, some mag-cuffs. They were ready for him to be triggered. It was comforting, instead of disheartening for Bucky. Better safe than sorry.

Once they explained the controller functions fully and had taken Bucky through a few test rounds of the game, he was actually not as confused as he expected to be. The game was pretty natural for him.

"Around the corner! Around the corner! Shit. I'm dead. Damn it!" Stark slumped back on the couch and tossed his controller aside. "Okay, I was wrong. Team play was a terrible idea."

Clint was still playing, tongue between his teeth, focused. "It was… a… good… idea-ah! Shit, Buck." He tossed aside his controller too as the end screen played. "What was a bad idea was putting him on a team by himself. You thought you were rigging the game in our favor, but you were _so_ wrong."

"Freaking gun-toting psycho," Stark muttered and glared over at Bucky.

"Did you think I would be bad at… doing exactly what I was trained to do? Except without actual consequences?" Bucky sat aside his special controller and found he was on the verge of smiling. He liked winning. And the game was actually fun, doing, like he'd said, exactly what he knew how to do best without people really dying. It was therapeutic. He could vent the pent up Winter Soldier murder fury and still be Bucky because no one innocent died, no one at all died.

"Well, yes," they muttered.

"Actually, we thought you'd go off your rocker," Clint quipped. "But this is much, much better. Just wait until we get Nat around here, she's a beast like you. Then it'll be a fair fight."

"I'm just glad you didn't flip out," Stark said, picking his controller back up. "Anyone up for three on, like, a million?"

"Yes." Bucky picked up his controller and leaned forward. He could do this all day.

Banner chuckled as they started up the next game. "Bucky, I think you must really enjoy this. Your amygdala has cooled off and your frontal and temporal lobes are firing away. I'd almost say you're relaxed, maybe having fun."

"I am," he grunted and fired off a string of precision shots.

"Get 'em, BUCK!" Stark shouted, his character running away and firing erratically.

"Behind you, oh God, air strike!" Clint's controller was creaking with the fervency of his button mashing.

"Stay down, it's covered." Bucky picked off a few strays as they waited out the air strike. He really could play this all day. It felt so natural. He wondered what Steve thought. The thought escaped him, "how is Rogers at this game?"

"Terrible," Stark scoffed. "He got all flustered every time someone died on his team and he didn't like the shooting so much. He's good at the grappling."

Bucky found himself holding his breath which each shot, waiting instinctively for the kickback. Feeling accomplished when his target fell. He stopped that immediately. Better not to fall back into muscle memory.

"Are you okay, Bucky?" Banner asked. "I had a light show for a second, everything switched gears. It's back now, though."

"I caught it," Bucky answered, still focused on the game. "I was slipping into muscle memory."

"Remember that feeling, that wasn't muscle memory, that was your other ego asserting itself."

Stark paused the game. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Bucky worked through it."

The game started up again and Bucky had a thought.

"Hey, Buck, where're you going? Don't abandon us! There's still like fifty-eight of them out there." Clint's character scrambled up behind Bucky's.

"Don't worry. I'm going to try something. Go back down there, I'll cover you." He selected a long range weapon and positioned himself on the highest level in the arena. He was going to let Bucky's Howling Commandos time have some exercise. It was just as natural. The ringed sight of the sniper, the patient waiting. This was even better. It made him feel nostalgic, not for the killing but for covering Steve, that had been his best role. It helped that Stark and Clint always chose opponents in Nazi gear.

"You were a sniper, weren't you?"

"Mm-hmm," Bucky hummed in the affirmative, taking out another target and moving to the next.

"I like the wide view too," Clint commented, sighing as the win screen came up. "That was epic."

Bucky sucked on his lip as the two of them chattered. Only Banner noticed something was up, probably because Bucky's brain was flashing like a Christmas tree.

"What's on your mind, Bucky?"

"Just how much can you find for me on your computers, Stark? Ms. Romanoff showed me the internet but I'm still not fluent in it."

"Well, what'd you want to find?"

Bucky set his controller aside and splayed his hands out on his legs. "The Howling Commandos footage."

Stark nodded, more restrained than usual in his response. "Reliving the glory days, I can dig it. I'll find that for you, come on, Buck."

Stark set Bucky up in the living room with a table console, literally the screen projected from a side table, and put the footage on repeat. Bucky watched it, the war coverage, the interviews, the cinema spots for hours, his mind relaxing at the familiarity of it all. He missed that, the simple way of America. Black and white, romping patriotism, a nation united behind his best friend, being a part of the good guys. Bucky felt his shoulder ache, and this time he couldn't block it out. Lying on his back, hand on the unit's weld point, Bucky watched again and again. Eventually, he was muttering the narration along with it, mouthing along interviews. At one point he even smiled along with his old self. He wanted to be there, whole, happy and laughing with Steve. His whole body ached for that.

He must have fallen asleep in front of the footage. He woke with the sun peeking into the living room's tinted windows. At some point in the night someone, or maybe JARVIS-Bucky still wasn't sure what he was capable of doing-had turned off the replay and covered him with a blanket.

"Good morning, sir," JARVIS announced as usual. "I've been instructed to inform you that you slept without medication last night. Congratulations."

Bucky looked around, he wasn't in his cell either. He felt good.

"May I offer you anything, sir?"

"I'd like some breakfast, JARVIS, thank you." He swung his legs off the couch and folded the blanket.

"Right away, sir. This way."

Banner and Stark were in the kitchen when Bucky arrived. Ms. Potts was there, too, yawning into a mug of coffee, robe wrapped tight. Clint was perched on the counter, eating sunflower seeds.

"There he is. And how are we this morning, Buck-o? Feeling fine, feeling fresh, feeling fancy?" Stark was cooking, which was a little bewildering. Banner in an apron was even more so.

"Today's the big day, are you pumped?"

Bucky combed his fingers through his hair and smoothed it off his forehead. "I'm nervous."

"Natural. Waffles?" Banner held out a plate. "We've made other things, too. Normally, people can't eat before surgical procedures, but your metabolism what it is, it might actually be a bad idea for you not to now."

"Yep, I've made Eggs Benedict. There's also a shit ton of bacon per the Hawk's request. Pepper, you ready for your eggs?"

Ms. Potts looked hesitant. "Uh, sure."

"What's wrong?"

"The last time you made a meal, it came alive, and not in a good way."

Stark frowned, "well, this time… Bruce helped."

"I did."

Bucky edged around them in the cooking area and opened the fridge. He wanted orange juice. Not sleeping in his cell had had a few side effects, one of them was not having a bathroom, and he really wished he'd brushed his teeth.

"So, Bucky, can we interest you in anything?"

"Sunflower seeds?" Clint offered.

"No, thank you." Bucky poured some orange juice and then sidled away. "I think I'll try the waffles. I think."

"You look well rested, Bucky. The natural sleep seems to have done you some good."

Bucky also hadn't seen himself that morning. He wondered what Banner meant.

"I'm glad I didn't wake you then," Ms. Potts said, "you looked so peaceful." So, she'd been responsible for the blanket.

"Thank you, ma'am. For the blanket."

"Aw, Pep, tucked him in, huh? How sweet." Stark sat down with two plates, handing one to Ms. Potts. "Anyhow, eat up, Lefty, we're scheduled in two hours."

Bucky was more nervous than he'd previously thought about his procedure, as became apparent in the avalanche of questions he dumped on Banner and Stark in the helicopter.

"And then what if the anesthesia wears off mid-procedure and I wake up and go red and kill all the surgeons?"

Stark just removed his headset. It was admittedly Bucky's fifteenth 'what if' question. Banner was still happily answering.

"That is actually a contingency we planned for. There is such a thing as an anesthesiologist that will monitor your brain activity and heart rate as well as other things to make sure you don't come out of sedation. Besides, I'll be there, in the gallery overseeing and I can come… handle things if the anesthesiologist somehow misses something."

"Are you bringing the elephant tranquilizers?"

"Those, yes, and some other things. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. In fact, I wouldn't worry about anything. Surgical science has advanced light-years since you were last around. They're going to take very good care of you."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Bucky said under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

A few minutes passed in silence occupied with Bucky fretting over all the things that could go wrong, most of which involved him killing everyone and then barreling out into the street like Frankenstein's monster, arm barely attached, or just missing which would be better. Villagers with pitch forks wouldn't stand a chance against him, or civvies with guns for that matter.

Suddenly, Stark was back. "Oh, so we're done with the billion question game? Good. FYI, I just heard from the operating theater nurse. They're prepped and waiting. We can take him straight into the adjoining prep room, to avoid anyone seeing."

Bucky was already dressed as inconspicuously as possible, but it was difficult for Stark to enter the building carrying what looked like a violin case, without drawing some attention. And, just one glimpse of Bucky's unit was enough to call down the whole of the city's law enforcement on their heads, so it was good that they could go straight from the roof's helipad to the prep area. Luckily, for emergency air lift there was even an elevator that did just that. Not a single person saw Bucky or the arm in transport.

The nurses had been forewarned and coached on how to react to Bucky and his arm, or so Banner told him. They were still clearly curious, or maybe wary. He caught a few of them staring at him at one point or another. The surgeon came in and introduced himself as the nurses were securing Bucky to the gurney. Apparently, that was another accommodation they'd made for him.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes, I'm Dr. Lawson, I'll be performing your surgery today. I just wanted to review the complications and risks you may encounter and get your signature to permit us to proceed anyway."

The surgeon went through a fairly hefty list of problems that could arise, but Bucky was having a hard time focusing. He was extremely nervous, to the point of distraction. It felt too much like the amputation the first time, people standing around and above him. Cutting his arm off, putting on something else. He had started sweating.

"Okay, Mr. Barnes, we're going to have to get your blood pressure down before Dr. Reynolds can administer the anesthesia." One of the prep nurses approached him carefully and then backed away quickly. "Uh, doctor?"

Bruce stepped away from the conversation he was having with the anesthesiologist and joined the nurse. "Well, Bucky, it looks like you're panicking. Can you rein that in, or do you want me to sedate you?"

"Sedate me. Please." He squeezed tight his eyes and thought about anything other than what was about to happen. He didn't feel the needle full of tranquilizers. He was focusing on one thing, that footage of him and Steve laughing. That, if this was the last time he was himself, was the final image he wanted to see.

Bucky didn't dream during the procedure, or if he did he didn't remember. Nonetheless, as he came out of the nothingness that was tranquilized unconsciousness, one thing remained the same. He still had that image of him and Steve busting up printed on the inside of his eyelids. He heard the world around him before he became fully conscious. There was some tinny conversation, like a radio, playing nearby and a few sets of lungs breathing. At least one asleep.

Someone spoke to his left, someone familiar. Clint. He was irked about something, Bucky could tell from the tone even though he wasn't quite processing the words. Another voice responded, more attitude to it, Stark. They were bickering. Over a… remote?

Bucky slowly tore his eyes open, though they were reluctant to part with that comforting image. It was beginning to fade some as he became more awake anyway. The room was very sterile looking, light walls, a few windows but the shades drawn over them and the door. They were hiding him.

"Just give me the damn remote, Stark. I'm not watching another episode of 'Mythbusters' I'm just not."

"It's educational, you ignorant swine."

"It's fun. For an hour. For three? Not so much. It even put Banner to sleep."

Stark must have had his foot on Bucky's bed, because the whole thing shifted as he sighed. "Fine. There. Just no… don't put something stupid on."

"I won't-oh, Buck. Hey!" Clint came into Bucky's field of vision and squinted down at him. "You're awake. How're you feeling?"

"Groggy," he rasped. His throat was very dry and his brain was sluggish, but he actually felt fine. His body didn't hurt at all. "No pain, though."

Bucky found himself sitting upright, although he wasn't moving. Stark shook a controller at him and then stood up to assess things. "Figured you could use some help sitting up for now. It's the bed. The bed moved."

Bucky relaxed. He was extremely confused for a second.

"Let's see that arm. Can you feel it?"

Bucky thought for a second. At that very moment he couldn't feel much of anything. "Uh… I can't feel my body really."

"Yeah, that's the side effect of loading you with about four different tranquilizers and general anesthetics. We'll give it a few more minutes."

He sat back down and Clint hopped into a chair to begin flipping channels on the television screen Bucky could now see. "Oh, you had a visitor. Nat was here, very briefly. She left you some flowers." He jerked his head towards the table at Bucky's right.

It wasn't flowers. It was one flower, a chocolate rose. In his muddled state Bucky found that hilarious. He woke Banner and startled Stark and Clint with the fit of laughter that followed.

"Is he okay?" Clint wondered aloud.

"Oh, yeah. Anesthetics make you loopy," Stark waved him off and turned back to the television, "oh, cooking channel."

"No."

Banner meanwhile was rubbing his face and stretching his neck. He didn't look like he'd been sleeping in the most comfortable position before, head fallen back against the wall and a bit to the left. He would have a crick in his neck. "You found something funny, Bucky?"

It was weird, laughing without meaning to. He still couldn't stop.

"Don't worry, that'll wear off soon," he yawned as he stood up to check the instruments and monitors hooked up to Bucky. "Well, your readings are fine. Better than fine, actually. You should be coming down off the drugs in the next five minutes. Then we can check how things are doing. See, we couldn't test the unit while you were down because Stark made sure its primary response was neural. We did do a few reflex checks, which it passed. So that's good."

As Banner was talking Bucky finally got control of the laughter, as well as began to feel his body again. His throat was still dry and his head was pounding a little. His left arm ached. It actually ached, not buzzed, ached. The surgical spot was tender, but not constantly throbbing like before. The rest of him came back slowly until he could feel his toes again. Besides the slight discomfort from the actual act of surgery, he felt fine.

"I can feel it," he mumbled, a bit amazed that he was saying this.

Stark uncovered the unit and Bucky audibly gasped. He'd known that it was going to have skin, but seeing it, actually seeing the left arm on his body with skin surprised him.

"Looks good, huh?"

Bucky nodded, staring at the arm. It was an arm, for sure. It was even more amazing when he wiggled his unit's fingers and the arm's fingers moved. It even had nails. He lifted the arm and brought it carefully towards his face.

"Good, good. Great response. Do you feel this?" He asked as he ran a pen cap over Bucky's upper arm. He could feel that it was smooth and cool.

"Yes," it was just barely a whisper. "It felt like plastic."

"Nice. Let's try the fingertips, huh? Close your eyes. What do you feel?" Stark placed something smooth, soft and fuzzy under Bucky's hand.

"It feels like… animal fleece, maybe?"

"Artificial fleece, but close enough!" Stark tossed a heating blanket onto Bucky's lap. "Did you feel-"

"The warmth? Yes."

Stark just grinned and then sat down. "My work here is done."

"Are you happy with the upgrade, Bucky?" Banner was watching him carefully.

"Yes," was all he could say in reply. He was still overwhelmed with the feeling he had back in his left hand. He had fingerprints, they looked like his right hand's. The skin felt warm to the touch, like his other arm. The muscles even flexed under the skin. It looked so real. For some time, he didn't know how long, he just stared at his two hands on his lap. He had two now, two real ones. Then, when it was a little less tender he lifted his surgical gown and looked at the fuse site. It was barely noticeable. He gasped again.

"What's wrong?" Clint asked, looking sharply away from the television.

"Oh, I bet it's the lack of surgical mark," Stark answered for him. He was right.

"It's practically invisible."

"I told you I found you the best, Buck." Stark almost seemed plain and genuine in that moment.

Banner stood from his chair where he'd been reading the surgical notes and observing Bucky's stats and stepped towards the door. "I'll be right back. I'm going to bring in a post-op doctor to clear you for release. You're ready."

Bucky was slowly getting dressed just a few minutes later and basically back at full operation a few more minutes after that, walking without hiding back up to the helicopter. It was a new experience, walking around without trying to hide his left arm or having people gawk and stare at it if he didn't. They just ignored him. It was beautiful.


	19. 19

The rest of that day Bucky spent absorbing the effects of having two arms again. He touched everything, literally everything, with the left arm. He even cut himself accidentally on purpose, to see what would happen. What happened was that he got yelled at by three different people at once and the skin magically zipped together again in front of his eyes. Once everything felt effortless again, and he'd touched as much of Stark Tower as Stark would allow, he and Banner ran Bucky through a barrage of efficacy exams. They had him do very minute things, like touch his thumb to each finger in quick sequence, or use a pair of tweezers, or handle the stem of a champagne glass without breaking it. Then they went on to more specialty functions, giving him a knife and seeing that he could still handle it with the left hand, then promptly taking it away when he cut himself on purpose. They even gave him an unloaded gun and had him handle it. That was fine, too. Everything was fine. The arm was working perfectly.

"Okay, let's try the precision run again, Bucky, thread this needle." Stark held out a needle and thread. Both separate.

"I'm right handed," Bucky responded lamely.

"So? Thread the needle."

"Even with my original arm I couldn't thread a needle using my left hand. I'm _right-handed_."

"Oh. Okay… um. Bruce? Suggestions?"

Banner was writing quickly in a notebook and not really paying much attention, or so Bucky thought. He shrugged and pulled a camera out of the bag of things they'd brought to test Bucky with. "I think he's ready for the photo."

"What?" Bucky didn't like that idea. Why would they want a photograph of him?

"Post-op photos, for the records. We have pre-op, when you were sedated. Now we need post-op. Take off your shirt."

Bucky was self-conscious. He didn't really want to, which was new as well since he'd never hesitated when someone told him to expose the unit before.

"Please, take off your shirt."

He fidgeted with the bottom of it for a few seconds until Stark sighed loudly.

"Just take your damn shirt off, you drama queen. I have never met a person who was so bashful despite being nearly invincible except… well, except Bruce… and Cap. Fine. It isn't unusual, but that doesn't make it less annoying. Take it off! Take off your shirt!"

Bucky finally pulled the fabric over his head and dropped it on the ground. He felt exposed. Somehow, not having the metal arm there, protecting him, putting off people's eyes made him vulnerable. Maybe it was because he was uncomfortable with people looking closely at him.

"Stop fidgeting. Let your hands hang by your sides." Stark barked.

Bucky dropped his hands from his pockets and cleared his throat. He felt genuinely awkward standing there, shirtless, in front of these two other men. It was even stranger that they were staring at him, not for any reason besides admiring the craftsmanship of the arm, but it still felt odd.

"Okay. Maybe try a smile, Bucky? No? I suppose it was a long shot. 1, 2, 3." Banner counted down to the flash and Bucky held his breath. "You blinked. Two more, then we'll be done and you can get dressed again."

"Just be glad we let you keep your pants on," Stark sniggered. "We could capitalize on this whole situation."

"Shush, Tony." Banner took the two additional pictures and then put away the camera. "All finished, Bucky. You can leave."

"But the-"

"He should be done for the day, Tony. Let him go enjoy the arm."

Bucky half-ran out of there, still pulling his shirt on as he went. Poking and prodding over with, he had more exploring to do. There was one thing he hadn't felt with his new arm yet. Water. He was headed for the shower. Back in the bathroom of his cell slash high-tech guest quarters, he was fully unclothed and waiting for the water to warm when there was a knock on the door. He pulled a towel around his waist, thinking that it was just Banner or Stark back to test yet another thing, and answered the door to his room. He was wrong. It was Ms. Hill.

She was speechless for a few seconds, as was he, the two of them just steeping in the awkwardness of the moment. Bucky clenched the towel tighter around his waist but couldn't move much else for the shock of it all. Ms. Hill was staring. It was unclear whether she was just surprised too, or being more aggressive.

"You-you're arm. Looks real," she said suddenly. She had the good taste to actually look at the arm as she said it. Her eyes weren't that controlled for the other moments.

"Thank you. I was just about to-"

"I came down to see how the operation went. Now, I have seen. Now, I can go. I'm happy for you, Barnes." She cleared her throat, indulged in one more almost subtle visual sweep of him and then turned smartly around.

Bucky couldn't get the door shut fast enough. That was worse than the photograph being taken, so much worse. He was never going to open the door again if he was not completely clothed beforehand. Natasha had been the last woman to see him undressed to any extent, besides some of the nurses at the hospital. He'd hoped she would be the only one.

His shower was hurried because of the shock. But, of course, the torment of that moment was not yet over. Stark was sitting on Bucky's bed, grinning, when he stepped back out, this time clothed. He glared at Stark a little coldly. He was holding Natasha's chocolate rose.

"Gave Maria quite a shock just now, Buck-o. She said your arm looked good, so did the rest of you. What exactly did you show her?"

Bucky blushed. "I had a towel 'round my waist," he mumbled and snatched the rose away from Stark. It belonged with his other things.

"Mm-hmm."

"I did. It was just… waist up. I didn't think it would be a _lady,_ Stark!"

"Didn't I read that you used to be a _ladies'_ man? What is with all of this insecurity and ridiculous modesty? And why haven't you eaten that rose?"

"I enjoyed dating, yes. But… I didn't dance with every partner. And... none of your business."

"Prude," Stark sighed. "You and Cap both, old-fashioned. There's nothing to be ashamed of, I swear. The two of you alone could... you know what? Never mind. I know a hopeless case when I see one. I just wanted to inform you that your "amazing body" really impressed Maria. She was talking with Pepper. Luckily, I too have an "amazing body" or I'd be jealous. And just eat the damn rose, Buck, that's why Natasha gave it to you." Stark strolled out, pulling the door to and leaving Bucky even more embarrassed than before.

Clint came barging in a while later, holding out a cell phone, that's what they called it. "Nat wants to talk to you."

He took the telephone nervously. He wasn't sure he was ready to speak with Natasha yet. "Hello?"

"Barnes. I hear you're doing well. Hill and Barton both say the new arm looks great."

He swallowed hard. He hoped it wasn't audible. He hadn't realized that Ms. Hill and Natasha spoke to one another. "I like it."

"Good. Listen, Stark and Banner have something planned for you tomorrow, but I'm having Barton bring you back afterwards. Are you okay with that?"

He absolutely was. "Yes."

"Great. I'm glad this worked out for you. Hand me back to Barton."

"Okay," Bucky said quietly. He didn't know what he'd expected but he was somehow disappointed.

"Oh, and Barnes?"

"Yes?"

"See you soon." The line went dead before he could respond and Bucky handed the phone to Clint without meeting his eye.

"Alright?"

"Yes. I'll be heading back with you tomorrow after… whatever Stark and Banner have planned."

"Good deal," Clint shoved the phone into his pocket and sauntered off. "I'm bed bound. 'Night, Buck."

"Good night," Bucky responded, thinking about other things. He turned quickly to the drawer he'd stuffed Natasha's rose in to keep it safe from Stark. Mulling it over, he pulled it out and considered eating it. But he didn't. It just didn't _feel _like something that should be eaten, or that _he_ should eat. He couldn't decide which. So he gently placed it in his box and pushed it, and its implications, from his mind.

"No dinner tonight?" Banner asked as Bucky opened the door later.

"Not hungry yet."

"Not unusual. Here, Tony wanted to run some diagnostics but he's… busy, so I'm here."

"Oh." Bucky sat down on the bed and made to pull off his shirt.

"No, no, just the elbow. I only need access to the elbow." Banner stopped him and then pulled out a small circular pad with wires connecting it to his computer. "I'll just put this… here," he stuck the pad squarely on Bucky's bent elbow. "And we'll read how the arm's functioning."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Just a few more seconds and I'm out of your hair."

Bucky stared at the little pad. His old unit's diagnostics had taken much longer and been much more painful. This was painless, he couldn't feel anything.

"All done. See you tomorrow, we have something fun planned for the afternoon." Banner grinned at Bucky and then left.

"All done," Bucky echoed, turning his hand and arm over to wonder at it again. He felt like a new person. Or an old one, he couldn't decide.

He slept that night for the second in a row without medical inducement. The next morning he got up and got dressed with a new feeling. Was it hope? Excitement? Maybe just a subtle lessening of his formally constant self-loathing and confusion. Either way, he felt good. He liked his new arm. He even took the time to check his appearance in the mirror, to shave and comb his hair, and, to look at his arm. He could imagine himself doing things again, normal things. Boxing- he could probably actually box with Steve now, maybe not even have to fake losing- picnics in the sun, being with a woman. He stopped there, noticed the blush extended even along his left arm. He splashed his face with water and willed himself not to think about Natasha and him on that one night, except now he was a whole man, could feel her with all of himself.

He took a deep breath and marched out of the bathroom and past his bed and into the hall. He needed some fresh air. He could go for a walk now. People wouldn't recognize him. He could see how the city had changed up close.

That went really well. He enjoyed the act of walking, the sunlight, the breeze on his skin. And people ignored him for the most part, and when they didn't it wasn't bad necessarily. Women had grown bolder, it wasn't just Ms. Hill who was an anomaly. Ladies made eye contact with him several times, smiled. Good looking girls, too. He remembered that was something he'd have been proud of once. Maybe it didn't make him proud per se, now, but he didn't completely mind it. One time, he even smiled back, then she gave him her number. That made him feel guilty, he was lying to these ladies, acting like a normal person.

Interestingly, that didn't really stop him from enjoying the attention. He just didn't egg it on. He thought about Natasha mentioning the smooth-talking ladies' man part of his old self. He'd like to try that on her now. He'd probably be confident enough to. He found himself in Central Park before long. He was having such a good time, the man winking at him didn't even faze him. Clint had said people could like whoever they liked now, and it was flattering, all this attention. Didn't matter who it was from.

"There you are." Clint flopped down beside Bucky on the bench he was sitting. "You're going to get lost one of these times and I'm not going to be able to find you."

Bucky shrugged, "today, I can't really care."

"Diggin' the arm, huh?"

"Absolutely."

"And the attention?"

Bucky was halfway through nodding when he realized what Clint had said. "What?"

"Oh, okay, so I was fibbing. This isn't me finding you, this is me approaching you after tailing you. I saw the six women hit on you. That one with the number was fine, too." Clint sniffed and pulled out a knife to clean under his nails. "Hell, all of them were fine, you lucky bastard."

Bucky stared at his hands. "I remember being this man, having an easy time with ladies, liking attention. It's pleasant, but it's not exactly honest."

"Aw," Clint clapped him on the back, "enjoy it, man. You gotta give that guilt muscle a break once in a while. Plus, you make the rest of us feel like shit."

"You don't have difficulties," Bucky decided.

"Well, I don't have it as easy as you. I wish I were taller, that would help."

Bucky rolled his eyes, something he didn't remember doing recently but that came naturally enough. "No one is actually happy with themselves these days, are they?"

"Nope. Sure not." Clint slapped Bucky on the knee and stood. "Come on, we're going to a Yankees game."

"Aces!" Bucky stood up enthusiastically, to his own surprise. It was like a replay of the day his dad had taken him and Steve to a Mets game. Actually, he and Steve had had the very same reply.

Clint snorted. "Alright, aces it is."

Banner and Stark met them at Yankee Stadium. It had changed, a lot from the reels he'd seen of it. But some things were the same. Bucky still enjoyed the hell out of the game. He cheered and clapped, stood for almost homers, groaned with bad plays. He felt real again. There was just one thing missing. Steve.

"Did you invite Rogers?" He asked Banner during the seventh inning stretch.

Banner smiled sadly and shook his head. "Not time yet, Bucky. Sorry."

Bucky nodded and stomped along with the chant to hide his disappointment. He wondered what was the hold up. The Yanks lost, but it was all good fun anyhow. Stark got bored half way through and started messing with his phone, but Clint and Banner stayed engaged through the whole game with Bucky. Seemed that Banner knew about almost everything, and Clint just liked competition. Also, each hit he could predict exactly where the ball would fall. That was incredible.

"I'm an archer, man. I know angles and trajectory."

Bucky opted to walk and then take a cab back to Stark Tower after the game, even though it was ridiculously far away and not in the best part of the city. He wasn't worried, he just wanted to stay out, in old stomping grounds for a little while longer. Banner decided to accompany him. He said for the break from Tony but Bucky figured it was to make sure he didn't get lost and to pay for the cab fare. It was fine, everything was all fine. They caught a cab eventually and Banner finally opened up some about himself. Bucky was having a grand time still.

That just didn't quite last all the way to Stark Tower.


	20. 20

Once, around daybreak in the middle of Nazi occupied Poland, somewhere in a forest Bucky had had a similar feeling. He'd just finished flipping Steve for the last tin of crackers. He'd made sure it landed tails, old habits. Steve had squinted, suspicious, but Bucky had just lobbed them at Steve's head with a small grin. He and his super human metabolism needed them more than Bucky anyway. He had taken position against the trunk of a tree on a small precipice and begun dismantling his rifle. It needed a good clean. He was relaxed and pretty happy, their missions were going well, and with the guys they had, relaxation was an option. They were good men, kept a good watch.

Then, something just changed. He wasn't sure if it was the wind, or the actual sounds of the forest died down, but Bucky felt his peacefulness evaporate. He had snapped his gun back together as quickly as possible and crawled on his belly until he could see Steve. The idiot was talking with Jacques, stood up and at full voice. He was exposed. Nonetheless, he seemed to hear the whistling of the bullet before Bucky, because he grabbed Jacques and ducked in time. Bucky had had just enough time, because of that, to kick Dum Dum on his ass and save his life.

That was what Bucky felt turning the corner to Stark Tower's south entrance, that foreboding that he couldn't communicate the source of. He drew a deep breath and listened, willing his body to stay calm. If there was one thing he knew, he did not want to revert to the Winter Soldier instead of WWII Bucky. In this situation, with this particular companion, it would be disastrous. He pivoted on the spot and allowed his senses to work with his memory for him. The Winter Soldier didn't get ambushed, he was always the one stalking. Bucky had been. Bucky knew to listen first. The air had quieted, just like in that forest. The insect noises had died down and suddenly the pedestrian traffic was gone. In New York City that was a one in a million chance, even in his day. To his left, a street light flickered then went out.

"Dr. Banner," Bucky muttered quietly, holding out his arm to stop his companion from proceeding. "We're about to be ambushed."

Bucky had just heard the firing of two silenced shots when Banner responded.

"What-" he fell on the ground, seizing with electricity before he could complete his question.

Bucky was hit in the nape of his neck and impacted with the ground two seconds after Banner. A moment later he was tagged again, this time on his left arm, disabling its mechanics. Bucky was only momentarily incapacitated though, besides the arm. He rolled out of the way in time to see something he had never truly been able to appreciate on the footages. Tag wrenched from his arm, he backpedaled into the wall of Stark Tower. For a moment, he was actually scared of dying. That emotion had been long absent.

In the Alps, Bucky had seen an avalanche once. There was so much power and momentum instantly dissolving out of something that had been perfectly serene a moment before. He had wondered at the sheer destruction it wrought, utterly engulfing everything in its path with its blind force. That was what Dr. Banner became, an avalanche.

Whoever had fired the stun shots had clearly not known the bear he was poking. The attack did not progress for the minute or so it took Banner to go from a seizing one hundred and fifty pound victim to a roaring act of God. Hell, Bucky could hardly move and he was aware that triggering Banner had enormous, dangerous consequences. Knowing, though, was one thing, seeing was a whole other. Thankfully, from his own fits of blood-red, blind rage, Bucky knew better than to engage Banner. He merely skirted around him until he reached the garage of the Tower and let Banner, or the other part of Banner, take in his surroundings.

Their attackers didn't have that foresight. Bullets rained down on him, bouncing off like water droplets, but having enough of an impact to further enrage Banner. They also alerted Bucky to the fact that they were being assaulted from above. He stepped out from beneath the garage's overhang, and judged the distance. With a running start he could jump up there. Unfortunately, Banner had calculated that as well. He didn't need a running start.

In an instant, glass was pelting down from the impact of Banner's leap, so were bodies. Two hit the ground a few feet in front of Bucky. He recognized the gear. HYDRA strike team. They must have spotted him some time that day and stalked him until they knew he was vulnerable. They miscalculated.

He grabbed a sidearm from one of their belts and stepped back, scanning the building for their perch. Banner was wreaking too much havoc, though. He was too fast. That was when the explosion happened. Someone fired a large ballistic of some sort, Bucky heard it, so it went whistling past his right ear, but the force of its detonation was enough to knock him into the bowels of Stark Tower and bring Banner crashing down on top of him.

Bucky was buried under a half ton of rubble, ear ringing and still under attack, but surprisingly he was calm. In fact, his mind was crystal clear. He kept his breathing slow and steady, he wasn't sure how long the air in the collapse site would last, and then he listened. Eight and a half feet to his left, footfalls pounded, someone was barking orders. They were to recover the Asset.

Spiffy, Bucky thought to himself and then counted them. At least, six by their breathing, and he was still trapped under all this debris. He could try to lift it off himself but that would just alert them to his location. No. He waited, Banner was sure to surface before him, to create a monstrously huge distraction.

He was right. Within the minute, Banner was roaring, emerging from the mile deep sink hole he must have created when he fell. As predicted, the Strike team fell into disarray, scrambling to avoid the other-Banner's wrath. Bucky took a deep, steeling breath, prayed he wouldn't draw Banner's attention by escaping, and shoved as hard as he could both the metal above his chest and the concrete below his feet. It was enough to free his abdomen from the rubble and from there Bucky was able to wrench free his legs. Squatting under cover, he made an assessment. Beyond an aching in one knee and the tightness of a collapsing lung, he was fine. Both of those things would recover quickly. His arm, his left arm was already repairing its surface damage. He was ready to engage.

Drawing his weapon, his stepped out and began firing. Two down and he took cover again, this time from Banner. Only, it was too late for Bucky to prevent what happened next. He had been pacing around the large glowing energy source, the thing Stark called the arc reactor, because it emitted a particular sound that masked his gunfire and, with his back to it, no one could sneak up on him. Unfortunately, when Banner caught sight of him, sneaking wasn't something Bucky was worried about. He dodged the stampede, but the arc reactor couldn't. Banner barreled into it and then leapt back away, roaring, almost as if in agony. The arc reactor roared back, or rather pulsed angrily, then an alarm started sounding.

"Melt down imminent," JARVIS announced overhead.

"Melt down?" Bucky didn't like the sound of that. He only had a second to consider it, though, because Banner was still charging after him for some reason. At that point, Bucky just focused on running. He leapt into the sunken walkway past the arc reactor and plunged on. Banner tore his way through behind him. Slipping through a gallery of shelves, Bucky suddenly fell into darkness.

"The power grid?" He wondered aloud. He had just led the rampaging juggernaut through the Stark Tower's power grid.

"Yes, sir. The power grid." JARVIS chimed in quietly, beside him in the dark. "Mr. Stark requests that you lead Dr. Banner out of the Tower, not farther into it."

Bucky pivoted and then took off towards the eerie blue glow of the unstable arc reactor.

"DR. BANNER!" He bellowed as he passed the echoing smash of blind rage that Banner had transformed into.

That seemed to work and, a few moments later, that resounding crashing was only a few meters behind Bucky. He skidded into the main structure and rounded the arc reactor towards the exit. Banner wasn't as nimble. He wrecked into the debris from the first structural failure and roared.

"You couldn't just ride back with us, could you?!"

Bucky whipped around to find one of Stark's metal suits hovering above him.

"You had to go off on your own." Stark's voice was distorted but there was no doubt that it was him. "Got spotted. Who's the culprit?" He asked, landing beside Bucky and lifting his face guard.

"Stark, it's Strike Team. Rumlow's best goon, two lesser henchmen, eight down." Clint's voice echoed down from above them. Bucky couldn't see him in the darkness.

Meanwhile, Banner had smashed through the wreckage and was wheeling around, searching for his targets.

"Barton, the arc reactor's in melt down. I need some peace and quiet to try to stop it."

"Got it. I'll distract him."

"And Buck? Guard me." Bucky nodded, turning his back on Stark.

In front of him, he could see the sheen of sweat reflecting the light of the arc reactor off of Banner's now massive back. He was going to turn to them in a few moments. The Strike Team had had enough sense to run off or hide, or what was left of it. On cue, a whistle sounded from above them and a fire cracker burst went off at his eleven o'clock, near the exit. Banner lunged towards it bellowing.

"Got 'em, Stark. You said the pit's in the Park?"

"In the lake. Just get him there and he'll be stuck. I'm engaging it now."

"On it." Barton's voice faded, accompanied by a series of whistles that set off more firecracker showers several meters in front of Banner's retreating shape. He was shooting arrows, Bucky realized, as Barton materialized in the moonlight outside.

"Arrows?"

"Yup. Our little Merida sticks with the bow and arrows." Stark was still quippy even with his world crumbling around him. Quite literally, it seemed. JARVIS was in the middle of a very ominous countdown.

"Forty-five seconds, sir, to critical."

"I heard you, JARVIS, I too can count down from sixty." Stark engaged another option in his suit and began typing madly on the reactor's control unit without his gauntlets.

Bucky was growing nervous. Stark was not cool and collected. He was sweating madly. "Mr. Stark?"

"Uh… yeah, Buck?"

"This isn't a fixable problem, is it?"

"No, not unless you wanna reach into that hot mess and pull out the core. No. Looks like this whole block's getting blasted." He was already shaking his head. JARVIS was down to twenty-five. "I would, but not even the suit will protect me from direct contact, not since I amped up the output of the reactor to run the building. I wouldn't be able to pull it out. This is fucked to hell."

Bucky looked down at his left arm, internalized what it felt like, what it looked like. He wanted to remember that, because knew what he had to do.

"Mr. Stark, I'm sorry-"

"No, no, no. No. That was not a real suggestion. That was sarcasm. JARVIS sound the evacuation. Get everyone cleared out. Bucky, come with me. I worked too hard on that arm-"

"It was a masterpiece, truly."

"Don't you dare, Bucky!"

"Mr. Stark. I'm going to do this. It's my fault."

Stark grabbed him by the arm. In that suit, he was actually strong enough to stop Bucky. "No. I said no, Bucky. Let's get out of here."

Bucky ripped his arm away and kicked Stark square in the chest. He flew across the garage, leaving a momentary light trail from the chest piece as he went. Bucky set his jaw, stared hard at the glowing center of the reactor and plunged his left arm inside. He was screaming. The pain was immediate. He wished the nerves weren't so life-like as he pawed around for the core Stark had described. He was immersed in the reactor up to his shoulder, just a few centimeters and its glowing energy would start to sear his skin. Then he caught it. With another strangled cry, he yanked his arm out of the reactor, core in hand.

The world went black immediately. He thought he had passed out, but it was just because the light from the arc reactor was gone. He'd done it. Now, he just had to make the pain stopped. He reached with his good hand for his arm, his beautiful, life-like left arm and felt nothing but searing hot metal. Hissing, he jerked away and instead tried moving the arm. He could still feel it, that it was attached and operating, but the sensations were dulled down to movement and heat. The metal of its muscles and tendons were literally radiating heat. He shook it out, hoping to cool it down, but it was no use.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!" Stark groped through the darkness towards the orange-red glow that was Bucky's left arm. "DON'T TELL ME THAT IS MY LUKE SKYWALKER GLOWING LIKE A DYING EMBER OF THE BOYSCOUT CAMPFIRES I NEVER GOT, BUCKY! DON'T TELL ME THAT!"

Bucky slowly got to his feet and continued shaking the arm. It seemed to finally be cooling down some, the light it was giving off was dulling, at least.

"Oh, my poor, poor baby." Stark began muttering as he clunked towards Bucky. "JARVIS, fire up back-up generators and start diagnostics on Luke Skywalker. Bucky!"

Stark looked genuinely heart-broken as he approached him in the flickering, yellow lights of the back-up power. Bucky felt bad, but he also felt relieved. They were alive, and for once, he could say he was directly responsible for _saving_ dozens of people, instead of killing them. Sure, he was part of endangering them in the first place, but that was accidental.

"You saved the block," Stark commented numbly, eyeing the smoking fibers of the unit. "But you trashed your skin. The inner components are still working, the nerve endings are even still viable, but it'll be a job to fix. I'll have to completely reengineer the skin and attaching it is going to take hours, maybe even days. There are so many access points-"

"Then don't."

Stark froze. Bucky shrugged.

"It was fun while it lasted, but it was always temporary, Mr. Stark. I realize that now." Bucky picked a sizzling piece of cyber-skin off his shoulder and tossed it to the ground. "I wasn't going to be able to stay hidden, or look normal. I'm not."

He rotated the arm in its socket and considered the bare metal. "Whether by accident or because I just couldn't take it anymore, one way or another I was going to have a metal arm again. It's who I am now."

Stark glared at him. "So, you just figured, might as well play the hero while you were at it? Fuckin' swear, just like Rogers."

Bucky mashed his mouth shut and looked away at the floor as Stark continued fuming. That wasn't meant to be a compliment, but Bucky felt it was. Despite the pain, he was feeling pretty good. Just then, the door burst open to their right. Ms. Potts stood, frantic and holding a phone to her ear. Turns out, that small beeping Bucky had been hearing for some time hadn't been Stark self-destructing. It had been his phone ringing.

She looked between Bucky, who had started picking up pieces of debris and moving them to the side, and Stark, who was staring at the singed piece of cyber-skin that Bucky had tossed on the ground in one hand and the core in the other. No words came.

"Sorry, ma'am," Bucky finally spoke up, "I had to shut off the power."

Ms. Potts' eyes finally focused on him. "What happened?! Where's your skin!? Tony?!" She tiptoed carefully through the cellar's wreckage to where Stark stood and began drilling him with questions.

Bucky merely continued cleaning up his mess. A few minutes later, Clint came limping back inside. He was drenched and bruised, but in one piece. Banner, regular Banner, followed, also drenched, covering his otherwise naked self with pieces of shrubbery. It looked like he'd had a fight with a tree and won.

"Got 'em," Clint croaked and trudged past to collapse on the stairs.

Banner treaded carefully through the rubble, staring at each piece with immense solemnity. He looked like Bucky had felt before he pulled the reactor core out. Finally, he caught sight of Bucky. "Oh, no. Bucky, your arm." He seemed heart-broken, just like Stark had, but this time not for himself, for Bucky.

Bucky looked over at his once again silver arm and shrugged. "This is more me now. I gotta learn to live with both sides, like you said. This look fits better." He considered the unit for another moment and then looked back at Stark. "Mr. Stark, do you think you could make a casing for this, something that still allows me to feel?"

Stark stared with tired eyes at Bucky but then nodded, muttering something about contact plates.

"Thank you, that'll be good enough."

"At least that ugly red star's gone," Clint added helpfully from the stairs.

It took Stark and Banner four hours to develop and fabricate the casing. Even in the throes of grief, Stark was a genius. A little after midnight, Bucky was flexing his new arm, metal skin and all. It was perfect.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Dr. Banner." He held out his hand and looked them square in the face. It was time to say goodbye.

Banner smiled weakly and took Bucky's hand with a sigh. "It's been a pleasure, Bucky. I hope I don't see you too soon."

Stark shook his hand hard and clapped him on the shoulder with a shake of his head. "Whatever you say, Manchurian Candidate. Oh, god, so much material I haven't used yet. What a waste."

He turned back around half way out of the room. "Come back when you change your mind, got it? I'll do this one better."

Bucky nodded, flexing his fingers, testing their tactile pick up. They worked just fine. He wouldn't be back.

"Come on," Clint herded him towards the elevator, "I've found us a car Banner didn't smash."

"Where are we headed? Back to the capital?"

"No, man. Nat's moved again. We're heading upstate."

Bucky watched Stark Tower, all lit up again, recede in the distance from the car door's mirror. No, he wouldn't be coming back, not soon at any rate. He had two people to reintroduce himself to first.


	21. 21

**A/N: Okay, so, thus far things have been pretty T for teen, some bad language here and there and some... _suggestive_ material. Well, this chapter is actually mature. Just... be ready for that.**

* * *

Natasha was waiting for them when they pulled up the drive of her extremely remote, wood-surrounded safe house. She looked like she hadn't slept. Wearing just a fleece jacket and a pair of beat up old jeans, she was sitting on the porch swing, drinking coffee. Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Hey, take it slow, man," Clint warned him as he shut off the car. "You've just been through a traumatic event."

Bucky glanced over at him in confusion.

"People tend to make rash decisions after big accidents, life-changing shit. Don't do anything crazy. Oh, and she's probably going to hit you."

Natasha didn't hit him.

"Hey, Barnes. Good to see you." She unfolded her legs from the rest of the swing and nodded her head for him to sit. "Coffee's inside, Barton. How was the drive?"

"Just fine. No trails," Clint grunted and let the porch door swing shut behind him.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. The night was quiet and the stars were clear and bright. Bucky thought it was appropriate he was seeing Natasha again in starlight. She reminded him so of them.

"I'm sorry about your arm," Natasha finally said. Her voice was so quiet he wouldn't have heard her anywhere else, anywhere where the noise of life intruded.

Bucky was still looking up at the stars when he responded. "I'm not. You know, I haven't seen the stars like this since Germany. I didn't know you still could."

"Barnes…" Natasha's tone held a warning. "You have to talk about it. Stark told me what happened."

He looked down and over at her. Her face looked even whiter in the starlight, red hair shining like fire, her eyes were quiet though, just a flash of blue here and there. She made him want to smile. He extended his arm towards her, noticed that she didn't flinch despite her jaw setting, and held it palm up.

"I'm not sorry. I meant that. Look." He waited until she extended her hand, placed it in his palm. "I can feel now. Your skin's cooler than it should be. Soft on top, rough from work on the bottom, your palm has a groove in it. A cut, maybe?... See? Nothing to be sorry about."

Her eyes seemed to brighten as she contemplated him, never leaving his face to look at the arm.

"Besides, it seemed appropriate. A reminder to keep me straight." He gently released her hand and sat back. She held his eye for a few more moments and then looked down quickly. Bucky sighed and looked back to the stars. "They really are beautiful."

Natasha hummed quietly beside him, a pensive noise, but said nothing more.

Bucky broke the silence with a question he'd been mulling over a long time. "Your interest, in me? Was it part of a mission?"

"At first," Natasha said, looking him dead on. He waited for the 'but then' explanation, it didn't come. That was all he was going to get.

The two of them sat there, without speaking, for the rest of the night. Bucky sighed again as the dawn broke. It was stunning, too, but he preferred the starlight in Natasha's eyes to the harsh warmth of the sun. He hoped he'd see it again.

"You two want breakfast?" Clint asked from the front door. "I'm making eggs and everything."

"I think breakfast sounds like a good idea, Barton. Thanks." Natasha set her hand on Bucky's for a split second as she stood and then headed inside.

Bucky could still feel the warmth of it as the swing rocked gently beneath him. The woods were coming alive, sunlight streaming through the trees, birds chirping. He took that as his cue. It was time for him to be alive, too.

"Breakfast it is," he said to himself and stood to head inside. He had to start somewhere. He picked up his box of belongings from the porch and stepped inside.

After breakfast, Bucky announced he was going for a hike. He'd spent enough time inside, hiding. He wanted to be outside for a while. Clint grumbled about lack of electricity and settled in front of the television. He was just disappointed that Bucky had turned him down for a video game session. Natasha eyed him and then stopped unpacking her huge arsenal.

"I'll join you."

Clint scoffed and kicked off his shoes, "yeah, enjoy the great outdoors!"

"No, I think it's tactically sound. I can scope the perimeter." She grabbed a small pistol and a knife, tucking both into her jeans. "I'll be on the burner phone, Barton."

"Whatever."

"Bucky?"

He looked away from the game Clint had just begun at the sound of Natasha saying his name. It was a little startling. She held out a gun and his knife, the one she'd confiscated the week before.

"Just in case," she assured him.

He accepted them and stowed them away. "Just in case."

She trusted him. She trusted him to have the exact arming she had, even though he was four times her strength and speed. She trusted him. A fake explosion broke the spell of the gaze they'd shared and Natasha cleared her throat.

"We'll be back by 0900, Barton."

"And not a second later," Clint murmured, eyes not moving from the screen.

"I'll be offended if you don't come looking."

Taking Clint's snort as confirmation, Natasha headed for the front door. Bucky followed in her wake.

For her excuse about scoping the perimeter, Natasha seemed to know where she was going in these woods very well already. They started off due north on a well-maintained trail and hardly broke pace for a second. By Bucky's count a good half hour had passed before Natasha slowed down. She bent over and picking up a twig, fiddled with it a bit as they strolled. Bucky liked these woods, they were warm and bright, the best parts of the memories he had in the woods. Natasha brushing against his left arm brought him out of his nostalgic reverie. He'd spent a few minutes just remembering, of his own volition.

"Are you okay?" She asked. There had been a point to her touch. He knew she did nothing without intention.

"I am. Just thinking that nights on mission would have been a lot more pleasant in woods like these." He looked over to assess her reaction, but Natasha was focused on the ground in front of her.

"You're remembering."

"On my own, yes." It was so exhilarating to acknowledge that.

"Congratulations. Stark and Banner did a great job."

"It was mostly Dr. Banner."

Natasha blew a strand of hair out of her face and then gave him a small grin, "I figured."

"And Barton was surprisingly helpful."

"He has a way of doing that," she agreed and then slowed even more. "Surprises even himself. Barnes. Hold on."

Bucky stopped and turned around to where she was standing. Her face looked conflicted. He wanted to ask why, but he knew better than to push someone like the two of them to express anything. Instead, he waited quietly.

"I like your hair," she said sighing and shaking her head. It hadn't been what she'd wanted to say.

Bucky reached up and smoothed a mentioned strand from his face. He'd forgotten that he'd started combing it since she'd seen him last. "Thank you. I remembered a few days ago."

"It looks good that way."

"You did a good job cutting it."

Natasha scoffed and started walking again. They didn't speak again for a while. Bucky had just stepped up onto the ridge of a hill when Natasha tried again. This time, she laid her hand on his arm, feather-lightly, to stop him.

"Bucky, are you going to go look for Rogers?"

He nodded down at her, "yes."

"Tomorrow?"

"As soon as I'm done here," he replied and her eyes narrowed.

"Done here?"

He nodded again and then took a step back, held out his hand, "I have an acquaintance I have to make properly. Hello, Ms. Romanoff, I'm Bucky Barnes. Pleasure to meet you."

Natasha looked down at his hand, a smile spreading gently across her lips. She extended her hand and shook his, still grinning. Looking up at him with an expression Bucky'd seen enough times to recognize, she tilted her head to the side and... surprised him.

"Would you care to go dancing, Bucky Barnes?"

He blinked down at her. That was not usually where that expression led. "I have to admit, I was hoping to be the one to ask you, but… I suppose I have some things to adjust to these days. I'd be honored."

Natasha, smile unfading, nodded behind her. "Come on."

Over the crest, on the other side of the hill was an old warehouse, abandoned, with the glass windows knocked out in some places and the roof missing in a few more. Natasha broke in, picking the lock, assuring Bucky she didn't need the super strength to get in here. Inside was just as beat down as the outside, puddles here and there, glass and leaves littering the floor. It was cool and quiet, though, and the holes in the roof made for just the right amount of light. Natasha paced through nodding contentedly.

"This a dance hall could make," she mused, stomping on the floor. It was solid, gave off a good, concrete echo. "Now… I guess some music."

Bucky crossed his arms in bemusement as Natasha pulled out her telephone. She tapped at this for a few seconds before a familiar clarinet rip sounded from it.

"Benny Goodman," Bucky noted and Natasha nodded. "Good choice."

She flashed him another preciously rare grin and set the phone down on a turned over wooden crate. Bucky followed her with his eyes, soaking in every move, every mannerism. She seemed more relaxed then he'd seen her yet.

"You can teach me, right? Big time dance hall regular like yourself." She joined him in the center of the room and spread her feet, standing ready.

"Of course, here." He held out his hands to take hers. "Right in mine, left on my shoulder."

She laid her hands lightly where he directed, Bucky placing his right hand on her waist. It was a far more intimate stance than he remembered it being, here alone, Natasha looking so directly at him. He dropped his eyes and nodded his chin to their feet.

"Now the basic step is fairly simple. Find the music… there. There's the beat. One, two, one two. And… one foot back, then step back in." He grinned when she stepped back with her left so that they were out of step. "Yeah, I usually start with my left, which means you would your right, but… I can switch."

He skipped a half beat and onto his right foot, so they were in step. "Good. And that's the basic dance step. Just stepping in place the rest of the time. Sometimes…" he drew away his right hand and lifted his left above her head. "I'll spin you."

Natasha caught on quickly, that smile not yet leaving as they returned to their basic position.

"I can… spin you out… or in." He hummed along with the music as they practiced that. "Or, I could even spin you into me, sweetheart style." He pulled her into a gentle spin until she was in his arms, her back to him. "And then we match step, instead of mirroring."

He couldn't see her face, but he figured Natasha was still grinning. Her hair smelled like lemon and pine trees. They weren't really touching, but even so, he could feel the warmth of her against his chest.

"And then, I can step out, spin and… dip you." He lowered her by the waist over backwards in a sweeping dip.

Her left leg bent to balance her instinctively, crawled up against his own, just the toe of her shoe brushing him. He lifted her back upright, arms still around her waist and held her there for a second, actually touching.

"May I kiss you, Ms. Romanoff?"

That grin broadened and then split into a full smile. She chuckled and then laughed, eyes squeezed shut. Bucky was a bit surprised, but that wasn't new with her. Her laugh, at least, was pleasant, a little husky, like her voice, but bubbling, warm and sultry. When she opened her eyes again, she was still smiling, but a more repressed grin, like she was stopping herself from laughing more.

"Why not?" She straightened her shoulders and tilted her face up to his. "Yes, you may, Bucky."

He responded more quickly than he'd wanted, it wasn't as smooth as he'd liked. She didn't seem to mind. The first thing he wanted to do was properly kiss her, hands on her waist, after dancing kiss. It didn't turn out that way. His hands found her hair, found it to be as soft as it looked, then cupped her face as he leaned down to meet her. The lips were the same, soft but firm, she tasted like oranges. Her hands didn't stay on his shoulders, they too moved to his hair, looped around his neck. He breathed her in and ran his thumbs over her cheeks. She was so soft.

As the intensity of her lips, her tongue increased, he dropped his hands to her waist, but just to hold her closer. She was easy to lift, her legs wrapped around his hips effortlessly. He held her there, one hand on her back, the other clasping her thigh for uncountable minutes. Finally, Natasha broke away, red tinging her cheeks, her lips, her eyes dark.

"Well, we've had dinner together, now danced, even exchanged gifts." Her voice was throaty, a little hushed. "Is that courting enough for you?"

Bucky licked his lips. There were about twenty different responses competing in his head from 'fuck yes,' to 'ladies aren't usually this forward, but I like it.' He went with, "only if it's enough for you."

Natasha raised her brow and looked at him, and then laughed. "You see? You can still smooth-talk."

Admittedly, there had been some times when he'd imagined this very scenario with Natasha, finally being whole, treating her right, but it had never been in a place like that. At the moment, though, it didn't bother him. It felt appropriate, two broken people, made new, together in a broken place given new purpose. It felt right.

He set her down on the ground again, slowly, gently, and stepped back to slip off his coat. He laid that down behind her and then toed off his shoes.

"For you," he murmured, nodding towards the coat.

Natasha shook her head but slipped her shoes off and stepped onto the coat. She didn't need to touch that dirt. He followed her, stepping right up to her, toe to toe and dipping his head down to kiss her as she leaned up. She was a good bit shorter than him, but it didn't matter. Leaning down to nose her ear, kiss her neck, he brushed the hair from her shoulders and then slipped her coat from her, following its path with his lips. His whole body tensed when she moaned for the first time. He thought he'd hurt her, but her fingertips against his scalp signaled otherwise.

He lingered on her neck, eliciting those little noises as much as he could, before reaching for the bottom of her blouse, pulling it up over her head. Her eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted as he set it aside and dropped lower to kiss her chest, her collarbone, the white and red pucker on her left shoulder. His shot. He kissed it twice for good measure and then stood away.

"I'm sorry," his voice was gruffer than before, his head light and warm.

"Don't be." She reached for his shirt, slipped her hands beneath it and up his chest.

Her nails, her fingertips were just fleeting enough to make him shiver. He reached down and wrenched his shirt off of him, aching to feel her skin against his. She was deliberate in all her movements, her exploration of his chest clinical, if it hadn't been done with her lips and tongue. He took the time to feel her, both hands in her hair, on the smooth slope of her back, the dip above her hips, the curve of her bottom. He wanted to feel that, her skin under his hands there, the give as he pressed his fingertips down. Moving her away from his chest carefully, he reached for the fastening to her blue jeans. She merely smiled coyly.

Underwear had changed in the past seventy years. Red, lace and minimal coverage is what he found beneath her pants. It made his gut clench. Natasha wasn't waiting for him to admire them, though. She grabbed him by a belt loop and pulled him to her, where she pulled off his pants and replaced them with the pressure of her legs and hips. Bodies pressed together, he kissed her again, this time sinking his fingers into the softest parts of her, the swell of her hips, of her rear, of her breasts. She tossed aside her bra as they were locked together. Incredibly, she did so without Bucky noticing.

He lifted her again to his waist, retraced his last steps across her bare skin. She held onto his arms, arched backwards as he covered new ground. She urged him on, suggesting things he hadn't done before, things he realized he enjoyed. The soft texture of her breast under his lips, the way her nipple budded with his tongue. He wanted to spend the whole afternoon this way, learning her body. She had other plans. Dropping her legs from his waist, Natasha lowered herself onto his coat, beckoned that he follow. He did, returning to her chest, moving lower to the teardrop of her navel, the other white pucker on her hip. His first shot.

She sat up, mischief in her eyes, and pushed his underwear down his hips. He stopped her and went back to tasting her hips.

"You like a slow build-up, don't you?" Her voice buzzed around his ears, under his lips.

"Only way I know how." He was on the verge of panting, the good kind.

She smiled. "Allow me."

Bucky was on his back faster than he could respond, Natasha sitting on his stomach.

"That was _something else."_

"Thank you," she purred, pulling his underwear off. "I hope you don't mind me taking over," she asked from below his waist. He couldn't properly respond.

Watching her bob on top of him was surreal. The expression on her face, the sway of her breasts, how her hips jerked just a bit at the end of each thrust. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Unfortunately, that all took him by surprise.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, a too short a time later. "I'm so sorry."

Natasha sat straddling him, her face flushed, chest rising and falling evenly. She rolled her eyes and waved his apologies away. "It's a compliment, really. Besides, after nearly a century you're bound to be quick on the draw. We'll just…" she leaned over, settling on his chest, "try again."

"So, you remember doing things like that?" She asked in between kissing him, ghosting her fingers over him.

He lifted her chin from his chest. "Nothing quite like that. More like…" He gently wrapped his arm around her and rolled, pinning her beneath him, "this."

"Nothing quite like the classics, huh?" She said through a smile, hands running over him.

He reached down to her knee, drew it up beside his hip, running the length of her thigh, and then settled between her legs to show her how _he_ did things. She was louder underneath him. He took that as encouragement and kept at his slow, steady pace. Just before she finished, she dropped her lips into the most delicious pout and called his name. He couldn't keep it slow or gentle after that. Her responses didn't stay gentle either, nails raking his back and shoulders, digging into his rear, shoving him closer to her. She screamed the second time, one hand reached above her, the other holding him inside of her. He didn't last much longer after that, stuttering to a stop, dripping with sweat and her name.

"Shake off… the dust…and... you're a natural," Natasha panted, stretching, arching her back, curling her toes.

Bucky actually laughed. Just laughed and sat back on his heels. "Gee, thanks."

"No. Thank you," she responded, all joking gone from her voice. "Now I know."


	22. 22

They got dressed in silence, occasionally making eye contact, grinning bashfully on Bucky's part, boldly on Natasha's. They walked back in silence as well, but closer, arms brushing, fingers. It took much longer than before to return to the cabin, but they weren't in a hurry.

"Now what do you know?" Bucky asked as he watched the way her hair fluttered beside her cheek.

She looked back and up at him, her lips pressed together. She wasn't going to tell him. He shrugged and walked on, contemplating tucking that one strand behind her ear.

"That it wasn't just a child's crush," she said a mile or so later.

"Oh," he responded without thinking. What did that mean? A child's crush? Natasha pushed on ahead without looking back or giving explanation. Bucky would just have to live with that answer, figure out what it meant on his own. He wasn't any closer to figuring it out when they arrived back at the house. They paused for a minute outside and Natasha gave Bucky a once over, picking dirt from his hair and brushing it from his jacket. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, without explanation.

He grinned down at his feet and finally tucked that strand behind her ear, pulling out a leaf with it. They looked fine, they determined silently. Natasha led the way inside.

"So, how was your sex?" Clint took one look at them and asked.

"What?" Bucky stumbled on the threshold but Natasha was much smoother.

"Breath-taking."

"What?" Bucky asked again, still blindsided and confounded.

"I fucking hate you both," Clint grumbled and returned to his game.

Natasha simply smiled at them and then sauntered into a back room, closing the door after her.

"I told you, she always gets what she wants."

Clint's voice unfroze his stupor. Bucky dropped heavily onto the couch beside him and took the controller he offered.

"I told you."

Bucky and Clint played a few rounds without talking really. Clint would mutter curses and randomly shout directions at no one in particular, but Bucky kept quiet. He almost felt bad for Clint. The way he'd said 'I told you' was a little too tinged with pain to be joking. He wondered what really was the situation between him and Natasha. Clint acted casual about it, but that wasn't all, and Natasha refused to talk about it. Whatever it was, it wasn't nothing.

Clint was back to his normal self at dinner though, after going out to do something and coming back. He never enlightened them more than 'none of your business' as to what he was going to do. Natasha had figured it was some archery. Bucky suspected she might be right, but with some very specific targets. But, whatever he actually did do, it improved his mood, and he came back inside as the sun was setting, wearing the closest thing to a grin that Bucky'd seen on him. For being as easy-going and off-hand as Clint was, he didn't really act happy. Not many of the people Bucky had met in this Avenger group did. The weight of responsibility, the guilt and horrible memories came with the position. At least Bucky fit in with that part of things.

"So, what's for dinner?" Clint had been shooting. He set a very elaborate bow in the corner of the room and a quiver and then kicked his shoes off.

Natasha cleared her throat but didn't move or respond. Bucky felt compelled to say something. The tension was too thick.

"I'm sure I could… there's bound to be something here that we could fix up." He scrambled from the chair where he'd been reading about NASA, which intrigued him endlessly. "There's some… uh…" He opened and closed a row of cabinets before checking the refrigerator. "Some milk…"

Clint snorted. He was standing at the table, unloading his gear, very noticeably not looking at Natasha. And she was obviously ignoring him, still rebuilding her computer Bucky had accidently destroyed when he'd tried to hand it to her.

"Don't worry about it, Bucky. I suspected as much. You like rabbit?"

"Uh… yes?" Bucky had eaten a lot of things in those forests in Europe. He was pretty sure he'd had rabbit, though he couldn't remember liking anything in particular.

"Great. I shot a few. And a turkey. Know how to clean game? No? I'll teach you, come on." Clint didn't even wait for Bucky to answer. He just slipped his boots on and ambled outside.

As it happened, Bucky did know how to clean game. He wasn't as fast as Clint, but he did know how. They skinned the rabbits in silence, gutted them with just a few grumbles of 'watch out' or 'knife', and rinsed them down without saying a single word. The turkey took longer, de-feathering it was a pain.

"Am I crossing some line, Barton?" Bucky finally asked. He couldn't take the uncertainty anymore.

Clint looked up and surveyed Bucky for a second before shaking his head. "No, man. There's no line to cross, even if it _were_ up to me. Nat and I are… let's just say it'd be dangerous for me to hold my breath until we were actually _on_ again. You know, of the on again off again relationship pendulum. My pride's just smarting." He reached over and clapped Bucky on the shoulder, blood, feathers and all on his hand.

"But that doesn't mean I'm sticking around to hear you two 'on' tonight. I'm outta here after dinner. Or I'll sleep on the roof. I haven't decided."

Bucky ducked his head, focused on the feathers. He knew this one, this one was guilt. It gnawed at his ribs.

"So," Clint continued, lightness back in his tone, "how was it?"

Bucky looked up at him, surprised.

"What? I can't live vicariously? No, seriously, I respect her and all. Totally, or I'd deserve the ass-kicking slash recoded assignment list she'd provide. I just want to locker room talk with you, pretend I don't know the girl." He jerked his head to the side, encouraging Bucky. "Different from your day?"

Bucky nodded. He wasn't exactly comfortable discussing this with Clint. For one, Natasha was just a wall away and he was pretty sure she was actively listening, spy that she was. For another, Bucky never told anyone but Steve this kind of thing. Clint had become a pretty fast friend, but not that fast.

"You could say that."

"Oh, come on. Don't leave me hanging." Clint waited a beat and then laughed. "Alright, you don't want to share. That's cool. Feeling shy. Just tell me one thing…"

Bucky waited, breath baited. He hoped this 'one thing' wasn't something crass.

"Was it actually breath-taking?"

Bucky opened and shut his mouth a few times, looking for the appropriate response. But, he didn't have a clever one. "Yes," he replied firmly and Clint laughed.

"I figured. Alright, I might just stick around. Sleep on the roof. Maybe that way I won't hear this breathless canoodling."

"So…" Bucky needed another person's opinion, especially since getting Natasha's own was nigh on impossible outside of riddle form. "I'm not just a mission."

"Not since she figured out who you were. I'd say 'no.'"

It took them another fifteen minutes or so of easy silence to finish the cleaning the turkey and, by that time, they'd lost all the daylight. The moon was just starting to rise when Natasha ducked her head out.

"You two made up yet?"

Clint scoffed, "nothing was undone to make up. Turkey?"

Natasha nodded and slipped back inside, coming back out with a small charcoal pit which she deftly lit and then left to them. She sat on the swing and kicked up her heels on the porch railing saying simply, "I don't cook."

"It's true. Unless its cereal, salad or delivery, Nat doesn't prepare food."

"There's a reason for that," she informed him quietly, but Bucky never found it out. Like a lot about Natasha, it remained unspoken.

The grilled meats were good. Clint threw on a few potatoes and a tin foil sack of vegetables he'd magicked out of somewhere and it ended up being a full meal. They ate outside. Everyone there seemed to prefer the outdoors, probably all still suffering from the effects of being trapped inside somewhere. The night was pleasant, a little cool, but cloudy so Bucky couldn't admire the stars.

A while after the meal, Clint rigged up a radio and tuned into a baseball game. He even pulled marshmallows, crackers and chocolate out of nowhere and made s'mores. He was surprised Bucky knew what they were. An old girlfriend who'd been a Scout had shown him on a beach one night. He didn't share that, it seemed like a memory just for him. That must be how Natasha feels, he thought as he tried to eat the sandwich without getting messy. It didn't work.

The Mets won that night, though Clint was cheering for the other team. He shook his head when Bucky grinned. They left the fire burning under the grill to give them some light, but they didn't do much else. For a long while, all three of them were quiet, just… being, together, outside, at night. And that was okay. It was relaxing. After some time, Clint started naming animals by their nighttime noises, an owl here, a frog there. Natasha tried guessing once in a while, but she was usually wrong. It didn't seem to matter, though. After a while, he figured out she was actively guessing wrong. It was a joke for just her and Clint. Bucky absorbed the moments, remembering that this was what friends do, what really good friends do. They can just coexist without activities or motives.

A little before midnight the clouds cleared and Natasha leapt up from the swing. She hopped onto the porch railing and then, grabbing the edge of the roof, swung up her legs and disappeared. Clint followed suit, climbing onto the railing and then hauling himself upwards. Bucky hoped the edge could support his weight, but turns out, he could jump from the railing. They lost a few shingles, but there was sheeting underneath.

Natasha knew all the constellations. She rattled off over a dozen of them before Bucky became too curious and asked her to slow down, to point them out.

"And there, between Ursa Major and Minor is the tail of Draco, the snake."

"I see it. Those four to the left, the head?"

"Yes. Below that, is Hercules. See? His body's the square with its arms and legs. He killed the giant snake, Draco. And then," she moved her hand far to the east, "over there is Leo, another monster he slayed."

"Yeah, a lion. I can make that out. And what's that, there, below it?" Bucky pointed to a long line of stars stretching south and west. They looked like they'd be a constellation.

Natasha laughed without humor. "That's the Hydra."

Bucky flinched and dropped his hand.

"Hercules killed that, too."

"Good," Bucky muttered.

Natasha hummed in understanding and then reached for his hand, lifting it back up to point at a new place. "And… there. Just above the first star, that box with little wings, that's Cancer, the crab."

Bucky sighed quietly. His heart was still pounding from the mention of a thing that shared the name of HYDRA. He may have gotten better, but there was work ahead, too. But then again, Natasha was next to him, on a roof, under the stars, holding his hand. Albeit, she was holding it to point and keep his attention, but it was comforting. Maybe he should focus on that.

Suddenly she chuckled. Bucky had drifted off, thinking about how she looked in the starlight, eyes bright with interest. He'd missed whatever was funny.

"What now?"

"Nothing. Barton's snoring."

Bucky stopped and listened. Sure enough, a gentle rumble came a moment later. It was a quiet snore, at least. He looked over. Clint was dead asleep, hand behind his head, mouth slightly open, his bow under his other hand. When Bucky turned back to Natasha, she was on her feet.

"Come on," she tugged on his hand. "Let's let him sleep." She let go of him on the edge of the roof and slipped to the railing, lithely hopping to the porch.

Bucky landed on the ground in front of her with a loud thump. He couldn't twist and flip like that. He hoped he hadn't woken Clint. A few seconds of careful listening proved he hadn't.

"He was serious about sleeping up there?"

"The higher up, the more comfortable Barton is. He can see better."

"Okay," Bucky said, still uncertain, as he followed Natasha inside.

Clint was gone before daybreak. Bucky knew because he was wide awake when the sun rose.

He'd awoken in a full sweat, his left arm in searing agony. Natasha had sleepily told him it was a dream and fallen back asleep immediately. But Bucky had laid awake rubbing the casing of his arm, wishing the burning would fade away like the dream. Finally, when the sun had begun to rise, he'd gotten up with it, tiptoeing out of Natasha's room and into the living space. On the table was a note, scribbled in a messy hand: I'll be in touch. Try not to get blisters. Remember, hydration is important, excuse the pun. Also, Bucky, I like your knife. I'm taking it.

His car and things were gone from the drive, so he must really have left. Bucky replaced the note where he'd found it and began cleaning up their mess from the last evening. He was washing plates when Natasha padded out.

"That's a bad pun," she mumbled and then joined him at the sink, drying the dishes. "Are you alright? You didn't go back to sleep."

"I don't know, the arm hurts, but maybe that's to be expected. I did sear all its nerves off."

"And the not sleeping? You went a full twenty-four hours without it and then slept only three. That's not usually sufficient."

"I'm not usual." He shrugged. "I guess all that time in cryo stocked me up for a while."

Natasha stopped drying and looked up at him. "Rogers said that, too, but something was bothering him."

Bucky shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to enjoy his time with her alone.

"Okay. When you're ready," she said and picked up the next plate.

He told her that evening as they were sharpening all twenty-six knives she had in the house. He knew he needed to move on, to find Steve. His dream had just been a dream, but that didn't mean it wasn't significant.

He'd been on the train, reached out and grabbed Steve, been hauled up by that left arm. But then, the whole scene melted into the arc reactor. Bucky'd reached in, Steve yelling not to, but not in time. The whole thing had blasted that block into a crater of rubble and Bucky had been left standing. Alone. His arm on fire.

"That's just your subconscious needling you about not telling Rogers the truth. It's nothing to worry about," Natasha had assured him. He suspected she was right, it was lurking guilt. Very human. But that didn't stop it from bothering him. He did need to tell Steve.

But then, there was that equally human part of him that needed to be there. That needed for once in a long time to experience something mildly stable. That wanted to enjoy himself, to soak in the comfort of a woman who wants him there.

"I'll stay for another week, then go after Rogers. If you'll have me."

Natasha had looked up under her brow, a simper just barely curling the corners of her mouth. He took that as a yes. She held his eye for a moment longer and then disappeared, padding back in from her room a minute later, carrying the chocolate rose. She locked eyes with him and then held it out.

"What... what do you want me to do with it?"

She flashed a wide smile and then, feigning solemnity, quirked an eyebrow at him. "You just eat it. It's a gift."

The echo of his words on her mouth bounced around Bucky. She was mocking him gently, teasing his naivete.

He ate it.

And he did stay, he did enjoy the company of Natasha, did reacquaint himself with being a social creature, in a way. There weren't many places to go. Natasha would leave every other day or so to buy some supplies from a store several miles away, but besides that the two of them spent their days in the cabin, or more often, in the surrounding woodlands. Most of their time they worked, checking and rechecking weapons, setting perimeter traps, fixing problems with the cabin. Some parts of the day, the hottest or the rainiest, they passed on the porch in lessons on the world. Natasha seemed to know everything. In those few days she caught Bucky back up on the state of things more effectively than any book or internet could have. What she couldn't teach him, she showed him, pulling up photographs or 'videos' on her computer. He had boundless questions but she had boundless answers.

The occasional afternoon or evening she would show him a film, one of her favorites. Once a television program. Bucky enjoyed them but he preferred watching her enjoy them. She exhibited her fullest emotions when she didn't think anyone was watching. And there were those special times, particular hours in the day or especially remarkable moments when Natasha would pause what they were doing to strip his clothes off, make him groan and help him remember in other ways. She never did it at the same time and place, it was always somewhere different, in a different way. She liked to keep things new. The best was another night under the stars. They stayed from dusk to dawn on the roof on a blanket. They slept some. His favorite moment was seeing her look up at him with the starlight shining through her lashes.

On the sixth day Natasha's burner telephone rang. The one she kept in the chimney. He fished it out of the ash and brought it to the bathroom where she was taking a shower.

"Here," he slipped the phone through the curtain and then rethought things. He stripped his shirt and pants off and stepped inside with her.

She smiled at first, holding a finger up to his lips when he started kissing her neck. He stood back but kept touching her, her hips, her waist. Then, her face fell.

"Repeat."

Her expression darkened even further as she listened again to the person on the other end. Bucky shut off the water for her and handed her a towel. That scenario was obviously no longer an option.

She hung up the phone a few moments later, while Bucky was pulling his pants back on. "Barnes, I've got to go." The pain in her voice forced him to look up. Her eyes were tight, her jaw hard. "And you can't come with me… or stay here."

"Where?" He asked, already knowing there'd be no answer.

"I can't tell you, overseas somewhere. There's trouble." She was dressing quickly, eyes avoiding his.

"That I'm not ready for."

"No. That's not ready for you." She met his eye finally. Red, white and blue. "The world's not ready to meet you again. You'll have to go into cover, deep cover, somewhere else. Take my car. I've got a jet coming in."

Bucky caught the keys she tossed, then caught her waist as she ambushed him, kissing him hard and sharply, a bit of desperation in her taste. Then she pushed him away. "Go. Grab your box and go now. No one knows you're here. They can't."

He collected his things as ordered quickly, his head tucked to his chest. He felt shame in her hurry. Was she ashamed of him? He turned on the doorstep, caught her watching him as she scrambled to pack. "I'll find you after."

She smiled sadly. "I'll find _you."_

A sharp inhalation from behind him gave Bucky pause. Natasha was rifling under the sink, pulled out a bag and tossed it to him.

"Here. Take this. Cash, some untraceable credit cards. You'll be fine."

Bucky wasn't fine. He was able to leave fine, to drive fine, to even sleep in her car fine. But he wasn't fine. He was suddenly completely alone, abandoned to his own devices. He hadn't been this alone since he was still a homeless amnesiac. He made it fine until midnight when he pulled her car off the road to put gas in, which he figured out fine after a half hour. But he needed that time to regroup. He had some thinking to do.

"What in the world am I going to do now?" He wondered aloud as he tried for the fifth time to pry the gas tank open.

It was empty speculation. He only had one choice. He knew what he had to do. He had to go back to New York, to Brooklyn. He had one more introduction to make. He just had to find him first.


	23. 23

**A/N: Final stretch, just two more (including this one) chapters to go. It's been a pleasure.**

* * *

Steve wasn't anywhere. He wasn't anywhere Bucky looked for several weeks and Bucky looked everywhere. His family home, the apartment upstairs. Bucky's own old home, rented out to another family, refurbished, whole, but without Steve. His Washington DC address Bucky tracked down with some difficulty only to realize that he'd been there before, shot through its wall. Steve wasn't there either. Bucky knew that for sure, after sleeping there for a week and a half. And it was pretty hard to make a reintroduction when there was no one around to shake his hand.

But then, one day, he was there. Red, white, and blue.

That morning had been a particularly unremarkable one for Bucky, he'd woken on the couch, stomach aching him with hunger. He'd burned through almost all the cash Natasha had given him, and he still didn't know what to do with the plastic cards that came with the money. So, he'd gotten up and eaten the handful of peanuts he had left from the bag he had bought in the nearby convenience store and shuffled around. Maybe he should have saved some of that money he'd spent replacing Steve's lock, but that would have meant the first thing Steve would notice when he came back was a violent act. He wanted to be Bucky when he found Steve, just Bucky.

He had chewed that over, ignoring the rumble of his gut, as he'd showered. Thought about it some more as he shaved. He looked like a crazy person these days, sunken cheeks, dark circles under his eyes. Plus he'd seen the stares when he went out. In the mirror it became more apparent, his hair had started to grow out a little too much, that set of clothing he kept washing and re-wearing constantly had started to wear thin. Even clean-shaven he was beginning to put on the miserable homeless person look.

He had sighed. It was time. He had to spend that last twenty dollar bill, and not on food. He needed a haircut. For the past week or so he'd been putting the trip off, avoiding the barbershop. Barbers tended to brush under the collar, would catch a glimpse of that metal arm and report him. But that morning had been the breaking point. He couldn't look starved and unkempt. So, he'd sucked it up and stared down the threat head on. Down the street and in that barber's chair, he'd shown an old photograph of himself, black and white and faded and requested the cut. The old barber had recognized him, been perfectly shocked, stuttered out the 'but you're dead' recoil, before happily cutting an old war veteran's hair. Bucky had just been sure to mention he didn't need the brush around the neck, and he'd avoided the 'you're an assassin' shock as well.

Bucky'd paid the old man, grinning at his fawning, and left, one thing checked off his list. With the few dollars left, he'd picked up a bagel from a street vendor and wolfed it down before scaling Steve's fire escape and slipping in the window he'd left open.

He landed on his knees and found himself practically eye to eye with Steve. Steve was there, he was knelt on the ground, holding Bucky's box of things. He looked stricken.

Bucky caught his breath, held perfectly still. Steve was statuesquely motionless, too. There was a stretch of time when neither of them blinked or breathed, they just stared at one another, like two predators at a standoff. Bucky was frozen with fear, fear that he'd make a wrong move and cause his best friend to attack him, that he'd lose himself and fight back. Steve was certainly tensed for a fight, battered and bruised as he was. Bucky wondered what had happened.

Then, he realized someone had to break this stalemate, that he needed to say something, anything. That Steve didn't need to attack, it was him. No, that sounded stupid. Maybe apologize? Or tell him that he remembered everything, though that sounded a little threatening. He needed to speak, though, to assure Steve that his broken, far-off gaze, the one that had first woken Bucky up, that it was unnecessary, that he wasn't there to hurt him.

He stared at Steve, at his best friend, at the kid from Brooklyn and found that he had no words. Nothing could explain what he'd done. Maybe he should let Steve kill him, though, he still probably wouldn't. He didn't have the chance to actually make the decision. First, Steve's shoulders slumped and he shook his head.

"Bucky?"

All that pain, disappointment, betrayal but Steve was still Steve, full of hope.

Bucky exhaled, his own shoulders falling as well. "Hey, Steve." He ran his hand through his freshly cut hair. "I've been looking for you, pal. Got some things to apolo-"

He'd been looking at his feet, too ashamed to say the words and meet Steve's eye, didn't notice Steve approach, was caught off guard when he was pulled into a crushing bear hug.

"I knew I made it through to you," Steve clapped him on the back a few times, his voice broken.

Bucky, too, was on the verge of tears.

"Buck, I'm so glad to see you." He held him out at arm's length and looked Bucky over. "_So_ good to see you."

"Hey, Steve, I'm-I'm sorry. I-I wasn't-"

"I know, Buck, I know. You don't have to explain. I know." He pulled him back onto that smothering hug. "I can't believe you're here. I was looking all over for you."

Bucky measured his next response carefully. He didn't want to hurt Steve's feelings, not yet, that news was for a later time. "Well, I had some figuring out to do, on my own."

Steve was grinning, that fool-hardy smile that sometimes didn't make any sense. He stepped away from Bucky, sized him up. "But you did. You remembered. And you're back? For good?"

Bucky chuckled quietly and smiled right back, setting his hand on Steve's shoulder like old times, "'til the end of the line, pal."

Bucky had seen Steve cry before, once, but this second time was much worse. This time, it was his fault. Steve tried his best to cover it up, to laugh it off, but there was no stopping it, and he wasn't alone. Bucky was in tears too, for the first time not just tears, but the emotions that came with them. He started laughing.

"Two over grown men crying in an empty room, over a box of knickknacks. It's gonna be a rough day."

Steve barked out a laugh and then wiped his face. "Two ninety plus, super soldiers crying in an empty room over _each other_, that's a whopper." He bent over and picked out the photograph he'd been looking at when Bucky dropped in. "You've looked better."

"So have you," Bucky replied, nodding back to the picture. He meant it.

They laughed together for another minute before Steve looked up and shrugged. "Well, we've got some talking to do. You hungry?"

"Starved," Bucky answered.

"Then I've got a surprise for you, best diner in town. When I first ate there, I said it tasted like your mom's roast. Remember that?"

Bucky smiled back with a nod. His mom's roast, good food. "Finally, someone who knows what good food is."

"I know. It's rough, people eat the strangest things these days."

Bucky scuffed his toe on the rug, nervous, as Steve cleaned up in the next room. Now that he'd apologized and affirmed that he wasn't going to try to kill him, he didn't know what to say to Steve. But, as always, he didn't need to worry, Steve took care of that.

He stepped out, all fresh, in a new shirt and tossed another to Bucky. "I gotta say, I meant that earlier, Buck, you're looking a little… worse for wear."

Bucky shrugged and then changed his shirt, actually changed from one of Steve's shirts to another. He'd been wearing that first one Natasha had given him.

"You not eating?"

"Trying to, trust me. Things are expensive now."

Steve chuckled and motioned towards the door. "Well, we'll take care of that." He pulled on a jacket and a cap and then headed out the front door.

Bucky had been nervous about going out, his arm being noticed, but he needn't have worried. More people were interested in Steve. They'd stare shyly, some would point their telephones at him or even approach and thank him, ask for an autograph. Others didn't notice. About half the time his cap was enough to keep them inconspicuous, and no one even batted an eye at him. He was relieved. It was a nice day, the walk was through a nice part of the city, and Steve was an unstinting fount of enthusiasm.

He really was bursting with joy to have Bucky back. He talked about everything, so much that Bucky couldn't keep up at first. It was more than Bucky could ever remember him talking. Not even the interrupting pedestrians could slow him down. He'd just gotten to the flight that ended in him being frozen when he realized Bucky hadn't said a single word.

"I'm talking too much, Buck, sorry."

Bucky kicked a pebble in front of him. "It's alright. I'm still working on the talking part."

"Still working, huh? I guess you weren't exactly chatty last I saw you."

"I blame the seventy years of being muzzled, and the electroshocks." Uncomfortable with the admission, as with any admission, he pushed his hair off and away from his forehead.

Steve was quiet for a number of steps. "We should have looked for you."

"What?" Bucky missed his pebble. "Oh, uh… no. It was dangerous, enemy territory. And no one should have expected me to survive a hundred foot fall into snowy rocks. And I didn't. Not completely." He shrugged his left shoulder.

"I should have caught you."

"And fallen along with me? No, Steve. I have enough regrets for the both of us." He met Steve's eye to make his point. "You stay the optimist, I'll handle the dark stuff."

"You don't need to, not alone."

"I'd prefer it. I don't want to feel guilty for clouding over Captain America's sunny demeanor."

Steve exhaled in exasperation, "you're still stubborn."

"Seem familiar?"

"Yeah, roles were reversed you didn't let it go either when I said something similar. And how did you respond?"

Bucky shook his head. He'd walked straight into this one, his own former self proving him wrong. "'Til-"

"'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal.' It's still true, friendship works both ways. Just… let me help you." Steve caught Bucky by the shoulder and made him stop. "Let me work through this with you?"

He held Bucky's eye until he nodded.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for not saving you. You forgive me?"

"Yes, I forgive you," Bucky answered sullenly, still sure there was nothing to be forgiven.

"And I'm sorry for dragging you all on that mission that day, and for trying to enlist over and over, and for being so… damn stubborn."

"You saved me with that final enlistment attempt. You can't apologize for that. And I volunteered to be a part of your squad, so you can't apologize for that either."

Steve chuckled and nodded to the left, turning them down a side street. "Fine. You win that round. We'll keep working on it. So, you remember all that, all your past life?"

Bucky didn't hear Steve's question. He'd been looking at their surroundings, at this new street. A man had passed, one who'd caught his eye, who he'd recognized. He'd locked his eyes with Bucky and then stared hard at his left arm, like he knew what was underneath the jacket. That was because he did, Bucky knew him, he was HYDRA. As he stared, the man jerked his arm hard towards himself, striking his chest with his closed fist. Something had switched in Bucky's brain then. He clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. The rage was building and, despite his strongest assertion of will, he couldn't squash it.

"Buck? Do you remember your whole past life?" Steve asked again a little louder.

Bucky snapped right out of it, red clearing from his mind in an instant. He stopped and looked Steve right in the face with all urgency. "We just passed a HYDRA agent."

Steve was on high alert immediately. They doubled back, checked the side roads and alleys, but they were too late. The man had virtually melted into the shadows.

"Sorry, Steve. I should have been more alert. I was…"

"Flashing back?" Steve offered, shrugging when Bucky looked back at him in surprise. "I'm caught up on things," he explained as he dialed on his telephone, then reported the sighting. They stood together on that street corner, ignoring the muttered awe, the hushed whispers of the people who pointed and walked past. Bucky described the man as best he could and Steve relayed that information over the line.

"I'll have a sketch sent to you in a while…" Steve said, nodding for he and Bucky to walk on. "No, I know how to work it, or I'll figure it out. Yes, ma'am, goodbye." He hung up the phone and shoved his hands into his pockets. "So, do you?"

"What?"

"Remember the war, the old days?"

Bucky nodded. "It was what helped me come back. The memories weren't there at all and then suddenly they were."

"Suddenly?"

"Well, not suddenly. I was empty, didn't know my name, anything and then… well you said… the…" he sighed, unable to actually say those words again right then.

"Yeah, I quoted you."

"Yes, and then the old parts just kept flashing back for me. At first, I hated it. They were bewildering and I felt like I was still not in control. But I figured things out eventually. I think I've got it all back now, even the little stuff."

"Oh, yeah?" Steve sounded upbeat again. His recovery time from on duty to relaxed was nonexistent.

"Yeah. Like… like how I lost my diploma and never told my folks and which barbershop I used to go to. Those sort of things."

"And that time you were teaching me to box and I missed the bag?"

"And fell on your face? Yeah."

Steve laughed fully, with his entire body, hand on his chest, head thrown back. They had to stop walking for a moment as he wiped tears from his eyes. Bucky chuckled along, carried away by the contagion that was Steve's laughter.

"My nose wouldn't stop bleeding. You were worried that I'd broken it!"

Bucky laughed, a little helpless to stop at this point. "You were a laundry list of medical problems! What else was I supposed to think!"

"And you called your cousin, the nurse, to come check me out so you wouldn't have to admit to your folks that you'd gotten me hurt, again!" Steve was breathless, voice strained from the laughter.

Bucky exhaled loudly and crossed his arms. "It was reasonable."

"And she just stuck some wads of toilet paper up my nose and said it was a nose bleed. Then she called you a dunce and you were so fired up, you broke your thumb on the bag!" Steve collapsed against the nearest building's wall and just laughed and laughed. Eventually, he got control of himself and wiped his face. Standing back up he grinned at Bucky, lightly punching him on the shoulder. "You did teach me how to box though. Rule one: Never tuck your thumb."

Bucky swallowed a smile and shook his head. "Can we go? I'm literally starving."

"Yeah, come on. Hey, how 'bout the time that guy stole that ladies' shopping and I tried to stop him but he just kicked me into a gutter and then you stopped him by throwing a flower pot at his head?"

Bucky really smiled that time. "Yeah, and the lady thanked us but said that we'd broken her eggs."

'We'd broken her eggs!" Steve wheezed.

"Mr. Johansson made me pay for that flower pot," Bucky commented. "Said community service didn't buy him flour."

"Mr. Johansson was a bitter little man," Steve said pointing to the next building. "We're here."

"I think it was just because his daughter took a shine to me," Bucky grinned again, reaching to open the diner's door. "And, so what I took her out once or twice it wasn't like-" He swung open the door, but instead of just opening, it came clean off the building, glass shattering around Bucky's arm, metal bending under his hand.

Steve was quicker than everyone else. Had stepped in between Bucky and the remains of the door before they could turn their heads. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged as they stared. "Sorry, Mr. Roads. Super strength. I forget sometimes."

Bucky was absolutely mortified. He'd forgotten what-who he was for a split second and destroyed the door to a private business by just touching it. The owner, Mr. Roads, wasn't bothered at all, though. Probably because Steve was Steve, but also because Steve was Captain America.

"Not to worry! Not to worry, Captain Rogers! I mean, it's Captain America, my best customer. I can't hold it against you."

"Well, don't worry, Mr. Roads. I'll pay you for the damages."

"No, no. We're just glad you're here, Captain."

Steve smiled but still slipped a couple of bills from his billfold into Mr. Roads' hand. "I'm good for my word. Could we have a booth?"

Mr. Roads personally escorted the two of them to 'Captain Rogers' favorite seat' fussing as he went. As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve patted Bucky on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Steve."

"Don't. You'll get used to it. Just watch out when you're running, sometimes you can't stop in time and things get demolished. I took out a park bench last month. A concrete park bench." Steve shrugged off his coat and sat down across from Bucky, who was face down on the table, his head on his arms.

"I pulled a door off of a building. People could have seen." His words, quiet though they were, echoed around between the table and his arms. "And with my good hand."

"Like I said, you'll get used to it. It's not like you have all that much practice. Here, have a menu."

Bucky sat up and accepted the strange, laminated sheet that Steve had called a menu. "It's not the first time." There was also the steel enforced pantry door at Stark's.

"And it won't be the last. I think we should get some french fries to start out with." Steve flagged down a waitress and ordered french fries along with a whole slew of other things. "What're you thinking, Bucky? The pot roast is good, but so is the hamburger. So is the fried chicken, too. And the grilled cheese. And the tuna melt. Actually, it's all good."

Bucky was going to have a hard time choosing just one. His mouth was watering just reading about the food. He'd lived off of nuts and scraps for over a week. Actual food wasn't going to last long in front of him. He looked up to ask Steve what was the best thing, but Steve was gone. He was talking to a waitress nearby. He came back a moment later with a pad and pencil.

"Can you describe the HYDRA agent again for me, Buck? I told Hill I'd get her a sketch soon." He started sketching some basic facial features as Bucky remembered the man's face again. After a few minutes, the sketch was to Bucky's liking and the french fries, onion rings, cheese sticks-whatever those were-and chicken wings had arrived.

Steve picked at the food, distracted by his small cellular telephone. "I told her I could take a photograph with this thing and send it to her. I'm beginning to worry I misspoke."

Bucky frowned sympathetically and then stared at the food. Was he allowed to eat it? Or was it for Steve?

"Go on. I didn't order it for still life, Buck." Steve said, catching Bucky dolefully staring at it.

Control wasn't something Bucky wanted to exhibit at that moment, but then again, they were in a public place and shoving his face full of food at rapid fire pace would probably have attracted unwanted attention, so he mildly selected a single french fry.

It was warm, crunchy, salty delicious. It was possibly the single greatest thing he'd eaten since waking up in this century. "Oh, my holy God," he muttered under his breath.

"I know, they're excellent, aren't they?" Steve replied, tongue between his teeth as he held his telephone about an inch away from the drawing. "No… can't see all of it."

Bucky tried an onion ring, almost cried at the fatty burst of flavor. Then a chicken wing, picked the bone completely clean. He ate with extreme precision, meticulously. It was the only way to keep from inhaling all the food in one fell swoop. The cheese stick also surprised him, it was crunchy and creamy and rich. He ate another right afterwards to be sure the first wasn't a fluke, then he returned to the french fries.

"There," Steve announced triumphantly as Bucky ate his eighteenth fry. "Okay. How… do I send it. Oh! Right there. That's not so bad." He tapped at the screen and then nodded, a little surprised. "All done. Good. Hey, how's the food?"

Bucky looked up, his mouth full of onion ring. He nodded and then fought to swallow. "Amazing."

"I told you." He grinned and reached for a handful of fries. "I normally try to keep this place at arm's length because the food is just so good, but today…" he shrugged one shoulder, "what the heck?"

"It's not like your metabolism can't handle it," Bucky commented before starting in on yet another chicken wing. He still could feel an enormous hole in his stomach.

"I know… it's just… something seems too extravagant about it. Or it did before…" he trailed off and then glanced out the window, leaning back and setting his arm on the back of the booth. It was one of Steve's pensive postures. "So," he finally said again, "this is Bucky. This is you."

Bucky paused from gnawing at the chicken wing. "Am I not me?"

Steve sat forward and grabbed a cheese stick, "no, you're you. I can see that. It's just you seem a little distracted to me, Buck, sadder. Or maybe sad more often than happy…" he took a bite and then continued with a lighter tone, "but it makes sense. I thought I'd ask anyway."

"I'm happy more than before," Bucky replied, setting aside the bones. "Most of my personality is coming back, I think, slowly. I mean, I feel like myself for the most part. Maybe I'll be happier… or less distant soon."

Steve shook his head slowly, still thoughtful. "No. I don't think that's it. You are who you are now. Forget I said anything. I'm not the same man you knew, why should I expect you to be? Time does that, even beyond all the brainwashing. But…" he shook off the thoughtful stillness and quirked a brow at Bucky. "I bet there are some things that won't ever change…"

Bucky frowned, confused at what Steve meant until he saw exactly what he was doing. Reaching for the ketchup, Steve pulled the french fries towards him and began shaking the bottle over them.

"NO!" Bucky reached out to stop the desecration but caught himself. Steve was messing with him. He narrowed his eyes at Steve, who was setting aside the ketchup, dying from laughter again, and shook his head. "You're a punk, you know that?"

"Jerk," Steve shot back, still laughing. "I'm getting the hamburger, jerk. What are you having?"

Bucky glanced at the menu one more time. "Open faced beef sandwich?"

"Good choice," Steve answered and waved over a waitress, ordering for them both.

* * *

**A/N: ****STEVE! **

**I know that I listed Steve as a character in this story and presumably him and Bucky as a relationship that this work would explore, and in reality it kind of has been doing that so far. Bucky has been working back to this point, building to a place where he can have his best pal back, and Steve though not physically there has been having his own effect on events. Natasha was a helpful segue but this friendship between Buck and Steve is really what all the work was about. Not to undermine the romantic side of things but I've tried to write it in such a way that even Natasha knows that her thing with Buck holds no water to his bond with Steve. **

**Okay, that's important and I hope it's been conveyed so far, these last two chapters should cement it. I've tried to smoosh as much Steve and Bucky shenanigans into two chapters as I could. I hope it works out!**

**FYI, unequivocally happy endings aren't something I'm used to writing...**


	24. 24

Steve hadn't been kidding. Everything was good at this place. But Bucky's judgment may have been fogged by the fact that he was famished and that he was really enjoying himself otherwise. Steve had so many stories, and as he listened, Bucky felt like he was living them with him. It was like old times. Sure, Steve was a big hero and he was a little jaded with the modern world now, but he was the same good man Bucky had known, same kid who just never backed down from defending his principles. Still had the same endless enthusiasm and bright outlook.

"…the world's just so big now. It's incredible. Have you seen these…" Steve snapped his fingers, looking for the word, "these… ah, I just had it, smart cars? No… they're electrical, or hydrogen-powered? Something, unbelievable."

Bucky had not seen those. "What?"

"Yeah, they don't run off of gasoline, or not mostly. Some you just plug into a wall, like a lamp."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I had to drive one earlier this year. And the roads! They're huge and smooth and cover everything! You can drive anywhere."

"Yeah, I'd noticed."

"And even powered by electricity, these cars are so fast. And, the television! Crystal clear, in color. People hardly listen to the radio anymore."

Bucky nodded along. He was glad he wasn't alone being astounded by these things.

"The things people can do, it is just mind-blowing. And the clothing. I saw a couple of kids walking around in pants with holes in them. I asked about it. It's a fashion."

Bucky scoffed, "wearing burnt through clothing is a fashion? They would have loved the clothes in our time."

Steve nodded, laughing but without humor. "Anyway, I've been talking the whole time again. What have you been doing? Were you working or-"

"I slept with Agent Romanoff," Bucky blurted out. He'd been looking at the empty wax paper of his open-faced sandwich, trying to think about how to explain the past month or so to Steve, but that had come tumbling out, tactless and ill-timed. He didn't really know the reason, only that he would feel better after he told Steve.

"You… you… slept with Agent Romanoff?" Steve's eyes were as big as saucers.

Bucky nodded hard. He felt better already, less like a liar. "About…yeah, about two dozen times."

"You-she-you-you did what?"

"We…made whoopee…"

"You were with Natasha? All this time?" There was hurt in Steve's voice.

Bucky had forgotten it wasn't all about him. He had to take other people's feelings into account when making decisions. This reaction was why he'd been keeping the facts from Steve.

"Uh…not the whole time. And we… didn't do that until recently. At-at first, she was… she was someone else, a curator at the Smithsonian, she helped me get off the streets. It wasn't until I was dependent upon her that I found out who she really was. And… then I was stuck until I got control of myself. Then, I went somewhere else, got better… then I… went back to her."

"You mean, she knew where you were all that time I was searching for you?"

Bucky hung his head. He felt bad for doing this to Steve. "Yes, well, yeah, okay, yes. She knew, but… I wasn't ready… to be found. I didn't know who I was, if the soldier in red, white, and blue had been telling the truth, if things were as you said, nothing. Then… well, I was unstable. Everything set me off. Then, I was getting better, but it was delicate, I was still working through being two people, so they couldn't risk anything setting me back. And then… something happened, once I was whole again, and I was sent away to fend for myself. That's when I came looking for you."

Steve had followed him attentively, eyes on Bucky's face the whole time. But when he stopped talking, Steve dropped his head, stared down at his hands. When he responded it was quiet, a little guarded. "I get it, Buck. We woulda killed each other unless the timing was just right. That woulda been a shame."

Bucky was caught off guard by his chuckle that followed. "Yeah, you could say that." He was relieved again, a weight off his shoulders.

"Well," Steve sighed, his tone lightening afterwards, "I'm sure glad you found my apartment. Sure glad." By the time he looked back up again, he was smiling. "So, what's your favorite part of the 21st century. I like the internet, it's handy."

"Natasha," Bucky replied without flinching, and then laughed, but Steve didn't join in. It was still a soft spot. "So, hey, how are you doing? Any friends, dames? Any…anything?"

"Huh. Not really in the habit of having the time, Buck." Steve shook his head and then out of nowhere snickered. "I did kiss Natasha, though. Just once," he added quickly, "and for cover. It didn't mean anything. It was after you took us down on that bridge, actually."

"Yeah… I remember that." It was Bucky's turn to look wistfully out the window. "Sorry again-"

"Stop apologizing! I just told you I kissed the lady you're in a dizzy over and you apologize? Come on, Buck."

"Mmm, well, I'm still sorry. I was sorry to hear about Peggy, too."

"Yeah, but she had a good life. A full life. Lots to not regret."

They both sat in silence for a few moments, reflecting. Finally, Steve sat back and locked Bucky with a stare.

"So, I'm curious, what… what was it like?"

Bucky sat confused, trying to read his friend's face. What was what like? Oh. "D'you mean-"

"Yeah, you and… Romanoff."

Bucky scoffed and scratched absently at his jaw. "Like nothing you'd ever believe, like a… force of nature. She's one hell of a woman. A little wild, but she knows what she's doing."

"Ah, well, actually I meant…" Steve reddened slightly in the ears and then looked away. "Oh, never mind."

"What? Wait. Steve, don't tell me you still haven't-"

"I've-I've done things, just not… I've been waiting for the right one. The right gal."

"Come on!" Bucky sat forward with more energy than he'd exhibited in days. "You're a national hero, a super hero! You're bound to have met _a_ right one by now!"

"I'm busy. Romanoff's been trying to set me up, and… and there's my neighbor, but things keep… getting in the way."

"Sheesh, kid, you're a hard nut-"

"Captain America!" A little kid, maybe ten or eleven came darting out of nowhere up to their table.

Bucky locked down immediately, smile fading, shoving his left hand protectively into his jacket to hide it. Steve kept grinning though.

"Hey, there, kiddo." He held out his hand smartly to the boy, "I'm Steve Rogers. Pleased to meet you."

The boy shook his hand with unbridled fervor and then slapped a reproduction black and white photograph on the table. "Can I have your autograph, Mr. Captain Rogers?"

"Sure thing," Steve chuckled, "and you are, son?"

"My name's Dylan," the kid half-sang, and then bounced up and down as Steve scribbled a note on the photograph.

Bucky leaned in a bit to catch a glimpse of the photo. It was a Howling Commando's portrait, or the closest they had taken. He looked up to find the kid staring at him. He swallowed hard as the boy looked at Bucky's face, then at the photograph and then back at him.

"Hey…" It dawned on the child slowly, then his face lit up, to Bucky's surprise. "Hey! You're Sergeant Barnes! Bucky Barnes! Captain America's best friend, right there! " He pointed to Bucky's face in the photo. "I wrote a report about you in school… How're you here?"

Bucky froze. He had no idea to explain to this kid how he was there. Steve did, though. He jumped in, still grinning away.

"Well, you see, Dylan, Bucky did fall from that train, but what we didn't know was that he didn't die. He was frozen in the snow and ice on that mountain, like I was in the ocean. But we found him and melted him and freed him and here he is!"

The boy followed Steve's every word like it was the gospel truth. He nodded with Steve and then whipped around to Bucky. "WOW! Can I get your autograph, too, Mr. Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky stared at the kid for a second and then met Steve's eye, who was nodding him on. "Uh… yeah, sure thing. Dylan, was it?" Bucky took the photograph and the marker and stared at them. He knew he had to sign it, but he couldn't remember signing his name. He ended up just winging it. As he handed it over to the kid he felt like it looked about right.

"Thanks, Mr. Captain Rogers. I'm glad you didn't die, Mr. Sergeant Barnes!" The boy took his photograph and ran off to a table of adults who hardly paid him any mind as he blathered about meeting a long dead war veteran.

Bucky turned back to Steve, clearing his throat out of discomfort. "Is this your life? Is this how things are gonna be now, in public?"

Steve shrugged lightly, "I suppose. I got used to it pretty quickly, and I bet you will, too. We remake you as a good guy… yeah. Just gotta do some… image fixing."

Bucky ducked his head and thought that over. It could be tricky. He didn't ever want all the attention back in the war, with the Commandos' footage and the letters. It would be ten times worse now. He decided to change the subject, back to the topic of Steve's lack of dance partners, something not about Bucky.

He looked around the diner, spotted a few young women and then back at Steve. "Hey, what about her?" He nodded to the girl at the table a few to his left. "She looks nice."

Steve glanced over and then rolled his eyes. "No, Buck."

"Or, what about her? How 'bout her, eh? She's been looking at you?" He nodded towards one of the other waitresses. "Or… how 'bout her? You gotta talk to them first, Steve, before you know if she's the one or not."

Steve sighed and shook his head as Bucky kept pointing out women. He turned to the window next, nodding to the ladies who passed outside. "How 'bout- uh-oh."

The fun faded as he spotted a woman in the parking lot, all alone, getting handled by a man. Steve was up in an instant, with Bucky on his heels.

"We'll be back," Steve told their waitress and barged out the doorless frame.

"Steve, wait a second. I can't, Steve," Bucky trailed him, hesitating between helping Steve pummel this guy senseless and worrying about exposing his arm. "What if someone sees?"

"Then stop following me, Buck." Steve replied in a clipped tone, shoulders squared, head down and heading like a freight train towards the man. But Bucky didn't stop, they both barged right on, Bucky grabbing the guy by the collar as Steve stepped in between him and the lady to make sure she was okay.

"Is this man bothering you, miss?"

Her eyes were full of fear. "I don't know him," she mumbled just audibly. "I was just trying to meet my friends inside."

"Mm-hmm," Steve nodded and waved to the diner. "Let's head inside, then. We'll take care of this." He turned back for a second to look at Bucky and the man. "Hold 'em, Buck. I'll be right back."

Bucky sighed, but nodded back. All the people in the diner were staring again. Anonymity was not in the stars for him anymore. Jerking his head to the back of the diner, Bucky pushed the man out of eye sight. He knew where to go, this was a back alley chat. He didn't say anything to the man, though he had plenty to say. He just made sure the guy didn't take off. He had to grab him once.

"Uh-uh. Not yet. Not 'til Rogers has his say." The man glared up at Bucky, and he felt compelled to add, "I'm sorry for you. He doesn't like bullies."

The man sneered at Bucky, "Rogers… what? As in Captain America? Seriously? What does that make you? His sidekick?

Bucky shrugged, crossed his arms. "In a way."

The man was gearing up for another retort, glaring at Bucky, but suddenly he blanched. He'd caught sight of Bucky's left hand, figured out what it was attached to, was staring at it. Just then, Steve came storming around the corner, a tirade on his lips.

"I don't know how you were raised, son, but that is not how you treat a lady, or any person for that matter! People are to be treated with respect and consideration. Women are people, people you treat like the human beings they are. I've seen enough of this belittling of people for three lifetimes. It's incredible that I can wake up seventy years later and the world is so different but this of all things has stayed the same. You know who treats people like things? Nazis. And the Nazis failed. Them and Loki. Do you really want to share anything in common with two of the worst enemies of our world? You shouldn't. Women are not objects, no one is. You listen to what they say. When she says she doesn't want to go with you, you respect that and you back off. You hear me?"

Steve was red in the face by this point.

"Now you can go inside and apologize to that young lady or we can settle this between you and me, and then you'll apologize."

Steve may have gone a little too long with his lecture, because the shock had worn off this man face and was replaced by disdain.

"Or what?" He scoffed, "you'll sic your assassin guard dog on me? Who are you to be lecturing me, consorting with a wanted felon, an international criminal?"

Steve glowered down at him. _"Reformed_ international criminal," he shook his finger at him. "Who was brainwashed, and is still a better man than you are. What's your excuse?"

Bucky didn't hear the exact response the man had for all that. He was swimming in a mixture of embarrassment and relief. Steve still thought he was a good man, he'd forgiven him for everything.

The guy was marching inside a few moments later. Bucky sat back down at their table and picked at the crumbs as Steve sent the guy packing.

"I'll remember you, you better remember what I said." Steve sat down smartly across from Bucky, still seething. "Unbelievable."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh. "Well, at least now you can actually do something with all that righteous indignation of yours. You're a good man, Steve. The world is a better place because of you. It's neat that I get to see that."

"Yeah, well, I do what I can. Hey, Buck?" Steve clearly still had something on his mind. "You did well out there. You were yourself. How often… are you not? Should I not take you with me-"

"No." Bucky shook his head. "No, the incident earlier was a fluke. It's been almost a month since I've had an episode when I blacked out."

"So… what was it?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe seeing actual HYDRA personnel giving me the trigger salute? It seems to me that sort of thing tends to do that to a brainwashing victim. Maybe I'm wrong." He shrugged as if that were all speculation.

Steve barked out a laugh and leaned over to smack Bucky on the shoulder. "That was good, Buck, good dry humor. You've still got that." He sighed, content and looked at the table in front of them. "I'm thinking more fries, you want a milkshake?"

"I'll eat everything you put in front of me. I'm still starving."

"Alright," Steve shrugged. "Let's order it all."

They really only ordered about two thirds of the menu, and by the time they'd made it through all that, Bucky was actually full. They spent the time talking about nothing, casual topics. Bucky felt like himself for almost the whole thing. He even forgot about the arm, and had to rush to cover it back up when he realized he'd taken off his jacket. As their table was cleared and Bucky fretted over how much money Steve had spent, he off-handedly mentioned that now would be a good time for a drink.

Steve snorted, "you mean you want to go to a bar to get not drunk?"

"I said it felt like a good time for a drink, not a good time to get drunk. It still tastes alright, right?"

"Okay… alright, I can do that. Just not whiskey, okay?"

"Roger that."

They didn't even get their drinks before the whole plan went to pieces. Bucky lost Steve as he was ordering their beer. He found him, as he'd figured, out the back, behind the bar.

He sighed, as he sidled up. "You're just busting for a fight, aren't you, Steve?"

Steve had some random guy backed against the fence. So opposite to what Bucky was used to walking up to.

"He was disrespecting the bartender."

"That's why?" The other man asked. "You're defending that old bastard?"

"That man's a _war veteran_," Steve hissed.

Bucky sighed and grabbed Steve by the shoulder. "Come on, kid. He's not worth it. You'll kill him on accident and then you'll have to live with that."

Steve stood his ground for a second and then gave way to Bucky's pulling. "Fine. You better apologize to that man, and thank this one." He grumbled to the man.

"I wouldn't worry about the bartender, Steve. He's got a shotgun under that bar. I saw it in the mirror."

Steve grumbled in response, nothing intelligible. He was still worked up, hated backing down, hated bullies. Bucky swallowed a chuckle and then continued to pull Steve along, arm around his shoulder. It was a little different with Steve being an inch or so taller than him, but it worked all the same.

They were almost back to Steve's apartment when he shrugged Bucky's arm off and stopped him. "Thanks, Buck."

"For what?" He shook his head like Steve was being ridiculous. "For doing what I've always done and dragging your dumb ass from a back alley? Not a problem, kid." He held out his hand, waited for Steve to shake it. Finally, all re-introductions made. "Makes me feel like you still need me."

Steve smiled in spite of himself and walked on. "You're going to be like that, huh? You'd like Sam. You two have some things in common."

"Sam?"

"Yeah. Veteran. Had this flight suit-"

"The one I ripped in half?"

"Yeah! Him. I'll introduce you someday." Steve announced happily as he opened his apartment door.

"Whatever you say, Steve. I doubt that'll go well."

"Oh, Sam's a good man. He knows the circumstances, but you know? Now that I'm thinking about it, he did ask a question I couldn't answer."

Bucky followed him inside and waited for the question.

"And what's that?" He finally had to prompt Steve as he pulled his coat off.

"Who'd win in an arm wrestling match?"

Bucky and Steve stared at each other for a minute. It was like the moment Bucky had dropped into earlier that day, but instead of caution electrifying the air, it was a friendly challenge.

"Yeah, that's a good question. I think we should find that out."

Twenty minutes later, seated at Steve's kitchen table, they were at a deadlock.

"It's been almost twenty minutes, Steve. I think we should call a draw." They were both straining, for all the endurance they both had, it didn't measure up to much when the strength it was supporting had met its match. Steve's face was red, Bucky could feel himself sweating. If they didn't call it off, something was going to get busted in the act of winning.

"Nah, we gotta see who's gonna win."

"I don't think either of us is going to win at this rate, Steve. It seems like a lose-lose situation." He used his left hand to wipe the sweat from his upper lip.

"We'll see. In the meantime, tell me something. Tell me how I should go about approaching these ladies you want me to talk to."

"Oh…" Bucky bared his teeth for a second, his arm was starting to ache. It _had_ recently been broken. "That's the easy part. _You_ just go up and introduce yourself. You're Captain America! It's the next step that's gonna be hard."

"What's… that?" Steve was clenching his jaw, too.

"The kiss… Holy cow. Uh, the kiss is the hard part, when you've stopped talking and want to move on. That's where you're gonna get hung up. Too much in your head." Bucky was giving ground. Their fists had moved from upright to leaning precariously to Bucky's right.

"The kiss? Oh… I hadn't thought about that."

"Yeah, you gotta make it mean something without coming on too strong, without making her uncomfortable." Bucky sucked in sharply as his wrist began to bend.

"And how do I do that?"

"It's… an… art. Takes… precision… and… sk-" Bucky had to give. His arm went crumpling beneath Steve's and took the table down with it.

"Skill…" He finished quietly, staring down at the wreckage of the kitchen table.

"Damn," Steve muttered. "You were right. You lost and I lost a table. Lose-lose."

Steve burst into laughter, waving Bucky off from picking up the splinters of wood. "No, we'll clean that up later. I want to try the left arm."

"Not a good idea, Steve."

"Good idea? It's a great idea. Come on." He set his elbow on the counter and motioned for Bucky to join him.

That lasted all of about thirty seconds and left the counter with a crumbling hole.

"You were right again," Steve announced. "I bet you're right about the kiss, too. How do you find the balance?"

"I'll show you sometime." Bucky chuckled, bending down to collect the pieces of stone.

"Oh, yeah? You'll show me?"

"I'll educate you, yes. Find me a volunteer and I'll show you."

They stopped laughing and listened carefully. The front door had just tapped shut.

"Rogers, I was just stopping by to do-Barnes?"

"Natasha?"

"Romanoff."

"Rogers?" Natasha looked between Bucky and Steve in confusion and then to the rubble littering the room. "What's- Why do I always walk in on this sort of thing?"

"It could be so much worse," Clint stepped around her, also surveying the mess. "Hey! Bucky! You found each other!" He nodded in appreciation, taking in the scene. "You arm-wrestled, didn't you? Who won?!"

Natasha was still taking in the situation she'd just interrupted. She turned to Bucky first.

And he had an idea. He was happy, had his best friend back, had his life back, had a double opportunity in front of him. He turned and grinned at Steve, who looked extremely puzzled.

Bucky jerked his chin at Natasha and whispered, "now's the lesson. It's like this."

"Barnes, I was just about to tell Rogers and then find you-" she didn't resist when he took her by the waist and dipped her into a kiss, Steve and Clint staring and all. In fact, he could swear he felt her smile under his lips.

"This is new. She's been making all the plays up 'til now. Hmm. You know, she won him over at first by using a name that was semiotically resonant with yours: Stephanie Kay, Stephanie _Okay_, Steven _Rogers._ Okay. Roger. Okay. Roger. Something to chew on. Want a beer, Cap?" Clint asked amidst his chatter behind them. "I brought a six pack. I hope this means Bucky's part of the gang now…"

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
